#but in my head he gets into a great film course at Columbia

[dominickeating-source]

TV ZONE ISSUE 132 - PAGE 48

Dominic Keating & Kira Clavell - Devilish Duo Evil has never looked so good or been this bad

Night has fallen on the city of Vancouver, British Columbia. Its docklands, normally quiet at this time, are a-buzz with activity. The cast and crew of the new Action/Fantasy television series The Immortal are settling in for a long night shoot. The sound of a car engine gets closer and a sleek, deep purple Prowler stops in front of one of the trailers. The driver, actress Kira Clavell, and a crew member exit the vehicle. Dominic Keating sticks his head out of the open trailer and playfully shakes a finger at his co-star. "Ah, ha, where have you been? We've been waiting for you," he teases. Clavell smiles, "I'm so sorry. They asked me if I wanted to test-drive the car. I couldn't say no." He laughs and says, "She just loves playing with the props. "Keating lights a cigarette and joins Clavell on the sofa inside the trailer. Both actors are wearing suitably evil black garb in preparation for their scenes later that night. On The Immortal they play a pair of centuries-old demons named Mallos (Keating) and Vashista (Clavell). Their characters are being chased through Tim by The Immortal. Raphael Cain (series leading man Lorenzo Lamas), and his young sidekick Goodwin (Steve Braun). Long ago the two evil doers wronged Cain and he is out for revenge.

Wear Well

"Mallos and Vashista are very old but they look pretty food for their age," jokes Keating. "The two began their evil escapades in ancient Japan during the 1600s. They came from the Earth's core or the Devil's conveyor belt if you will. There's this amazing scene in the pilot where the two demons and their horses are spat forth from the ground and are covered in molten lava." His co-star interjects, "That particular scene was so cool. We got to ride these great big beautiful black horses. The costumes we wore were absolutely fantastic, too. It's such a treat to have a detailed wardrobe like that because it helps get you into the mood of the times." Keating chuckles, "Yes, the costume department did do a wonderful job. However, that day I was more concerned with the fact that it would be my first time riding a horse. I did OK and was quite pleased with my saddle ability. I didn't fall off, I hit my mark and I remembered my lines." "Anyway, getting back to doing evil. Mallos and Vashista first cross paths with Raphael Cain when they kill his wife and kidnap his child. I assume they still have her in some kind of demon nursery, although she'd be fairly old by now. It's through their acts of violence that Raphael becomes The Immortal. The show flits back and forth between modern and ancient times to allow the viewers to witness this transformation. So his quest is to find his daughter and, along the way, fight evil and slay demons." "Mallos and Vashista have been at this little cat and mouse game for 400 years," continues the actor. "When you next see the two demons it's in the present. They're dressed in modern day clothes, all black, of course, carrying their cell phones and cruising the streets in their Prowler. They look like a pair of so-called 'beautiful people' from Beverly Hills or Hollywood."

Passions

According to the actors, their characters share more than just a passion for evil. "Apparently, the writers modeled the relationship between Mallos and Vashista on a real-life celebrity pair." says Keating. "So they're lovers, I guess, but there's something about their attraction to each other that's just not right, so you know what I mean?" Clavell adds, "I think they have a very volatile and unpredictable relationship. Yes, they share a strong chemistry, but you're not sure if this will cause them to make love of try to kill each other. Let's just say that it certainly keeps work interesting for me and Dominic," she laughs. Both actors had a great deal of stage, film and tv experience prior to being cast on The Immortal. London-born Keating made his professional debut on stage in 1987 at Man in the Moon theater in Chealsea. This was followed by more stage appearances in London as well as Edinburgh and Dublin. He has guest-starred on British tv series Inspector Morse and The Bill and was a series regular on Teenage Health Freak and Desmond's. Since coming across the pond, Keating has worked on a number of movies including most recently The Hollywood Sign starring Tom Berenger, Burt Reynolds,, and Rod Steiger. On tv he has had roles on GysE, Poltergeist: The Legacy and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The actor was slated to play the part of Goodwin on The Immortal but things changed before his audition. "They decided to age it [the series] down to appeal to a younger, broader-based audience. So Steve was brought in for Goodwin and it became clear that I could play one of the two lead demons. Malice, who then became Mallie and now Mallos. I read once for Michael Grais [executive producer] and, luckily, I nailed it. I was asked back to meet Lorenzo and the rest of the production team, we talked about golf and they offered me the job."

Tough-Gal

The actor's beautiful co-star Clavell planned to major in political science and psychology at university before the acting bug bit her. "I knew if I didn't try it [acting] I would regret it, so I did," she says happily. Lately, the actress has been cast in "tough-gal" parts, which has been ideal training for her role of Vashista on The Immortal. "I played a terrorist on an episode of La Femme Nikita and got to fire an M25 and another really neat gun. I don't know, perhaps I was an assassin in a previous life." laughs Clavell. Keating nudges her playfully in the arm and smiles, "To look at her you'd think butter would melt in that mouth." Clavell elbows him back, "When it came to my first audition for Vashista, I did it on tape. The moment I read the character breakdown I knew I'd have fun playing her. I did two five-minute takes and sent the tape to the show's producers. Naturally, I was thrilled when I received a call-back. I was flown out to Vancouver to do a live audition for a roomful of people including Michael Grais and David Straiton, who directed The Immortal pilot." "I wore this Vashista-like cat suit and after my audition I went into the ladies' room to change," recalls the actress. "When I cane out everyone was gone. I thought, 'Oh, I guess they didn't like me'. I went to see my agent and, much to my surprise, was told that the producers had called and the role was mine! So here I am!"

Anti-Demon Ally

In the two-hour pilot episode 'Demons of the Night', Cain and Goodwin gain an ally, Dr. Sara Beckman (April Telek), when they save her from two demons. Cain is hurt and they go to Sara's apartment where he can rest and heal himself. The Immortal does not know that his arch-enemies, Mallos and Vashista, are close by and are planning to deal him and his friends a deadly blow - Keating and Clavell start laughing when they recall their first day working together. "Ah, yes, this is when we shot my two favorite scenes in the pilot," grins Keating. "I'd been late for the read-through on the previous Friday. Not the best way to begin but I eventually got there. Kira and I then met over the weekend for dinner and at least got to know each other a bit. On Monday morning we arrived downtown at the location shoot on Vancouver Street. It was 7:15 and freezing cold. In the first scene, our two characters blow up Sara's apartment. Mallos aims his demon finger at the apartment window and Vashista starts getting all hot and bothered. Before you know it, the have their arms and legs wrapped around each other," laughs the actor. "Boy, these two really get off doing evil stuff!" "The next scene we filmed was in a restaurant. Mallos and Vashista are feeding each other raw fish while discussing someone else's demise. Suddenly, she gets all excited and climbs up on the table. Before you know it, the sushi is on the floor along with the champagne and everything else on the table." Clavell looks at Keating and says, "She seems to be a very excitable character, don't you think?" The actor nods in agreement and continues, "The funny thing was the director said to us, 'That's great That was amazing! That was electric! It was terrific! Do you think you could tone it down a bit, though? We don't know yet what time of the day or night this show is going to air.' So we made things more G-rated." Originally, Mallos and Vashista were to appear in only the first couple of episodes. However, the writers decided to bring the evil twosome back periodically throughout the first season. This was good news for Clavell and Keating, who are looking forward to doing as much as possible with their characters. "When I first started acting I'd always be cast as the best friend or the girl next door. With Vashista and, as I said earlier, some of my other recent roles, I've gone from being really good to being really bad and I love it!" Keating is equally as pleased to be working on the series. "As an actor, sometimes it gets boring waiting around while the next shot is being set up. It's at times like that when I say to myself, 'Hey, I'm getting to create a dream world that doesn't exist and that entertains people. How lucky am I?' Trust me, that puts things right in perspective."

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: a Film by Peter Parker

Fandom: Spider-Man: Homecoming

Pairing: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker (Spideychelle)

Summary: “Hi everyone. I’m Peter Parker, and this is my documentary presentation. The title is 'Perseverance'.

“I mostly think that the film speaks for itself, so I’m just gonna hit play, and uh, I’m happy to answer any questions afterwards about the footage, the editing, the choice of shot or well, anything, really.”

“And uh, even though they’re not here, I’d like to thank my close friends and family for putting up with me while I shoved a camera in their faces for three months.”

Peter is given an assignment to make a documentary film about the people closest to him. In the process, he learns some things about priorities, the people he cares about, and life beyond Spider-Man. Set two years after Spider-Man: Homecoming.

Author’s Note: This fic took me four months to finish and I was really unsure about how good it was. However, I got some lovely comments on AO3 (where you can also read it) and so felt confident enough to cross-post it over here :D

“All right, class, listen up – I’m going to give you your main assignment for the semester.” Gloria Steinberg, the teacher leading Midtown Tech’s film-making elective, clapped her hands for attention. The small class of ten senior students paused their discussions and refocused their attention on Ms. Steinberg.

“Thank you. Okay, so, here’s what I want you to do.” Ms. Steinberg uncapped her marker and wrote ‘DOCUMENTARY FILM PROJECT’ on the whiteboard. “This is going to be an ongoing, individual project that I want each of you to carry out. I want you to make a documentary film about the people closest to you in your lives.

“This can be family, friends, or anyone important to you. I want you to tell a story with this film; it’s up to you what that story will be. The key challenge that I’m going to set you is to capture a more natural, unguarded side of your subjects – a side that they don’t normally show to the camera.

“Think about the techniques we’ve been learning about in this class; think about the way that the filmmakers we’ve been studying weave a narrative with their documentaries. I also want you to bear in mind the technical side of things – shot framing, editing, lighting, everything we’ve covered. Now is your chance to put theory into practice!

“At the end of the semester, you’ll screen your films in front of the class, and give a short presentation about the process of making your documentary, the challenges you encountered, and the thinking behind the piece that you have made.

“Any questions?”

“Oh. Uh, are you filming now?”

The camera comes into focus on Ned Leeds’ face, leaning a little too close to the lens. Peter Parker’s voice is heard from behind the camera.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m filming.”

Ned pulls back slightly and grins, waves at the camera. “Hey! I’m Ned, Ned Leeds. I’m Peter’s best friend. Uh… What else should I say?”

“You don’t need to say anything, Ned. My assignment is to try and capture a natural side of people. So just pretend like the camera isn’t there.”

“Oh! Right.”

Ned moves away, into the middle of Peter’s bedroom, but carries on shooting glances back at the camera.

“You know, it’s kind of hard to act natural when you’re pointing it at me.”

“Right, right… Maybe I’ll set it up on a tripod.”

The camera jostles as it is set up in a corner, looking out over the room. A big space has been cleared in the centre of the room to make way for what will be a massive model: the Ultimate Collector’s Millennium Falcon, totalling 5,195 pieces. The box sits off to one side, and Ned reaches for it now, reverently admiring the design on the front.

“This is it… One of the most challenging Lego sets of all time.”

Peter crawls into shot, and motions towards the box.

“Shall we?”

“After you, my friend.”

Peter opens the box and starts laying out Lego pieces on the floor. Ned watches with his chin propped on one hand.

“Do you think we’ll ever get too old for building Lego models?”

Peter looks back at him in consternation.

“Why would we?”

“I dunno… like, we’re high school seniors now; we’re submitting college applications, thinking about our futures, all that serious stuff. But we still build Legos like we did in middle school. Do you think we’re supposed to stop at some point, to qualify as adults?”

“If that’s qualifying as an adult, then I don’t want to be one. Anyway, when we were in freshman year, one of the biggest things I learned about being Spider-Man was that I still needed to take the time to do normal kid things. Our whole lives shouldn’t be about serious, world-ending stuff – we need to balance that out.

“And besides, this is fun!”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Ned grins, and the two of them exchange their secret handshake. Then Peter looks over at the camera in the corner.

“Oops… I should probably edit out that part about being Spider-Man.”

“Probably.”

“Hey, Aunt May, do you mind if I film this?”

May looks up in surprise from where she’s laying out vegetables on the chopping-board.

“For your project?”

“Yeah, plus I think it’s really cool, you doing cookery classes and all.”

May smiles and goes to the sink to wash her hands.

“Well, we’ll see how they go. I have to do something with my time, what with you off to college in a few months!”

“I don’t have to leave. I can stay here in New York with you.”

May frowns, pausing with the knife poised above the carrots she is about to chop. The light catches the fine lines around her eyes, and highlights the grey hairs that are beginning to appear.

“Don’t be silly, Peter, of course you’re going to college. It’s your future! You’re going to go off and have an adventure, and come back even more clever and talented than you already are. Besides, all your friends are going to college.”

“Yeah, but… you’ll be on your own. And what about… you know… my extra-curriculars? It could be a bad idea to leave the city.”

May fixes the camera with a stern gaze. “New York got along perfectly fine before you started your ‘extra-curriculars’, and it’ll continue to be fine with you gone – and so will I. You’ve done amazing things and helped a lot of people, but you should be allowed to live your own life. You can’t be beholden to this city forever.

“Now, am I going to demonstrate my baton-chopping technique for the camera, or not?”

“Demonstrate away.”

The camera zooms in on the chopping-board, bringing the colourful assortment of vegetables into sharp focus: carrots, onions, red peppers, lettuce and celery. May begins to chop the carrots into neat batons of equal length, narrating as she does so.

“Now, the instructor said that the key to this is not to raise the knife too high when chopping – it’s all about efficient, controlled movements…”

“Is there a reason that you’re currently pointing a camera in my face?”

Michelle Jones, seated at a laptop and typing rapidly, doesn’t spare a glance to the side as she speaks. The camera falters slightly.

“I’m working on a project. For film class.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah – we’ve got to make a documentary about the most important people in our lives.”

MJ raises one eyebrow, still typing without missing a beat.

“I’m honoured to be included in that category.”

“Of course you’re included!”

The pout in Peter’s voice is audible even from behind the camera. MJ’s lips twitch into a barely-noticeable smile.

The camera zooms in slightly on the laptop screen as it fills up with lines of text. Fidgeting sounds can be heard from behind the camera.

MJ sighs.

“You know, I’m pretty sure that cinematographers are supposed to be more patient when filming their subjects.”

“What are you writing?”

“My application piece for the journalism scholarship at Boston University.”

The camera moves around to focus on the laptop screen; Peter reads the title aloud.

“‘The Fight to Preserve New York’s Public Libraries in the Digital Age’.”

“It’s a long-form feature. I’ve been carrying out interviews with librarians all around the area.”

“MJ… This is brilliant. It’s so detailed!”

“It’s just an outline.” MJ’s cheeks look a little pinker than usual.

“It’s a really good outline.”

The camera pulls back again to take in MJ, focused intently on the screen as she types, and for a while, nothing is heard except the sound of tapping keys.

“Don’t you have college applications to work on?”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m still trying to figure out if this whole college thing is for me.”

MJ’s typing halts abruptly. She turns and levels the camera with a look of alarm that borders on threatening.

“What do you mean? I thought you were applying to MIT with Ned?”

“Yeah, maybe…”

“Is it a funding thing? Does your aunt have enough money to put you through college?”

“Yeah, a lot of my, um, uncle’s legacy has gone towards my college fund. And Tony says he’ll chip in too. We have enough.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“I just don’t know if I can leave Aunt May. Or New York.”

“Oh. You’re worried because you won’t be around to Spidey it up any more?”

“Y-yeah, pretty much.”

MJ turns back to her laptop and resumes typing, a little more slowly than before.

“Just because you have superpowers doesn’t mean you can’t live your life. New York will deal. Presumably it managed somehow before you became Spider-Man.”

“Aunt May said the same thing.”

“Well, if you won’t listen to her, god knows why you’d listen to me.” MJ hits a couple of keys with extra force. “Whatever, it’s your choice. Do you have enough footage, or do you need to spend some more time breathing down the back of my neck while I work?”

“Uh, I think I have enough.”

“Hey, kid. You making another one of your video diaries?”

“Yeah, uh, this one’s for school. So it’d be cool if you could not make any pervy comments this time.”

“Well, is your aunt going to watch it? I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m a married man, now, see? I’m putting all my immoral ways behind me.”

Tony Stark raises one of his hands, which are currently the central focus of the shot, to show off a gleaming metal band around his ring finger. It has a twisting, geometric design in the centre that vaguely resembles the shape of Iron Man’s faceplate.

“I know – I was there. I still can’t believe you had your wedding rings made from vibranium.”

“Hey, I don’t wed with just any old ring. This is one of the strongest, most resilient metals in the galaxy, perfectly crafted to withstand any-”

A shower of sparks flies up from where Tony is tinkering with a near-unidentifiable mass of circuitry and wiring. A rectangular plate of sapphire glass lying off to one side suggests it might have started out life as a StarkPhone.

“-lab accidents.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Tony nudges apart the two bare wires that had accidentally connected, and then picks up a solder wick and soldering iron, touching both to a component on the circuit board and de-soldering it. He uses a pair of pliers to flip it away and onto the lab bench.

“You know, this is a classified design you’re filming.”

“Really? It doesn’t look like much to me.”

“Harsh, kid. Very harsh. This right here is genius in the making.”

Tony quickly loses himself in his work, paying no heed to the camera as it moves around him, capturing different angles: the side of his face as he frowns in concentration; a long-distance shot of Tony amidst his cluttered workshop surroundings; close-ups of the tools on the bench, being picked up and set down.

After a long while, Peter’s voice ventures from behind the camera.

“Mr… er, Tony?”

“Mmmm?”

“You went to MIT, right?”

“When I was fifteen, yeah. Great place. You should go there.”

“But like… what if you’d been Iron Man back then, would you still have gone to college?”

Tony straightens up at that, reaching for a rag on the workbench and wiping his hands on it.

“Kid, if I’d been Iron Man at fifteen, my whole life would have been pretty different, so it’s kind of hard to say yes or no on that one. But if I hadn’t gone to MIT, I wouldn’t have met Rhodey, wouldn’t have learned… a lot of shit that turned out to be pretty important – and I’m talking about life stuff, not what they teach you in class – and I wouldn’t have had an outlet for a lot of things, either.

“Would superheroing have given me that instead? Maybe, some of it. But it would have taken me down a pretty different path, and… Okay, just to be clear, we’re talking about you being Spidey instead of going to college, right? That’s what this is about?”

“I mean, just hypothetically speaking…”

“Yeah, sure, asking for a friend, blah blah blah. Look, the superhero gig isn’t everything – I thought we established that one a while ago. You decided to keep it low-key for a couple more years, be ‘friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man’, have a balance in your life. Right? It was a good decision; I supported that decision.”

“Yeah… But four years is a long time.”

“It is a long time. Look, I didn’t really prep for a far-reaching emotional discussion today, but the bottom line is that either way, there’s gonna be stuff you wish you’d done.”

“I guess that’s true. Uh, thanks, Tony.”

“Don’t mention it. But if you want decent life advice, Pepper is a better bet. Even for stuff that you’d think I should know about. She’s still better.”

The Millennium Falcon is taking shape, with the base and most of the forward mandibles completed. The camera captures Peter and Ned piecing it together slowly, sprawled on the floor of Peter’s bedroom, in breaks between assignments and Decathlon quizzing and stress.

Sometimes, they just mess around, picking up the little Lego figurines of Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi, Princess Leia and Han Solo and acting out scenes from Star Wars, pitching their voices in an imitation of the characters’ dialogue.

It’s peaceful. Normal.

MJ again, seated in her favourite spot by the library window with the sunlight haloing her head. She is bent over a book, golden sun rays intertwining with the curly brown strands that hang down over her face.

Slowly, she turns the page, appearing deep in concentration and completely unaware that she’s being filmed, her expression relaxed and at ease.

Then, deliberately, she raises one hand with her middle finger clearly displayed. Peter’s snorts of laughter can be heard from behind the camera.

“Wow, this looks so good!”

May Parker half-glances back towards the camera, busy adjusting the heat on the stove.

“I hope so. It’s a bit more ambitious than the stuff I’ve tried so far, but I thought – we both love Thai food, and this is a Thai-inspired stir-fry…”

“It looks awesome.”

May drops ingredients into the saucepan, which smokes slightly. “It’s okay, that’s supposed to happen.”

She turns away from the pan, intently studying the recipe book open on the counter, and reaching for a jar of Thai green curry paste. In the corner of the frame, something bright and yellow flares to life.

“May! The spoon!”

The wooden stirring spoon, which May left propped up against the gas ring, has caught fire.

“Oh! OH! Oh god, oh god-”

“May, it’s fine, just drop it in the sink-”

“Peter, could you switch that thing off, please, and come help-”

The camera tilts wildly, a crackling sound is heard, and the recording abruptly shuts off.

A blurry Peter and MJ are talking together some distance away from the camera. They slowly come into clearer focus, the camera held less steadily than usual, as if by an inexpert hand. Ned Leeds’ voice narrates in hushed tones from behind the camera.

“And here we see a wild Peter and MJ in their natural habitat, performing another complex mating ritual.”

MJ is sitting by the window again, reclining in one of her favourite library loungers with her laptop balanced on her knees. She looks up at Peter with an expression that’s torn between amusement and annoyance. Peter is on his feet, all restless energy, fiddling with a pen in one hand and obviously talking a mile a minute.

“Let’s take a closer look.”

The camera moves slowly towards the couple before eventually coming to a stop behind what appears to be a bookcase; the wooden edge of it obscures part of the shot. Peter and MJ blur in and out as the camera tries to decide what to focus on, until Ned zooms unsteadily past the bookcase and the two fill the whole frame. The microphone picks up their speech alongside Ned’s slightly heavy breathing.

“-Right.”

“Plus, y’know, I could really do with more footage for my documentary film project, and I thought it would be amazing to capture you out doing your reporter thing – plus, you could even edit and submit the video with your piece, y’know, to show some TV reporting experience-”

“The application rules specify text submissions only.”

“Oh… okay, I guess that wouldn’t be helpful, then.”

MJ sighs audibly.

“Fine, you can come with me to my interview this weekend.”

“Really?” Even from a distance, Peter looks about to vibrate out of his skin with excitement.

“Sure, but only if Meredith is okay with you filming her. Some people are weird about being on camera, and if she’s at all uncomfortable with it, you’re out.”

“Of course, MJ, no problem, thank you so much!”

MJ shakes her head in exasperation, but the expression is tempered with fondness.

“Don’t you have other people to follow around with your camera? I don’t know why you need to spend so much time on me.”

“I do follow other people around! I mean- not follow them- I do film other people. I filmed Aunt May making dinner the other night.”

“Really? How did that go?”

“Um… There was a small fire, and the stir-fry got burnt while we were putting it out. We wound up going out to eat.”

MJ laughs, and the adoring expression on Peter’s face is plain as he smiles with her.

“No, I just- I like filming you because you do interesting stuff. And, uh, I love to see you getting passionate over things that are important to you.”

There is a soft, open expression on MJ’s face which would surprise anyone who noticed it – anyone except Ned, who sees this expression quite often, and always directed towards Peter.

“Fascinating.”

It’s immediately obvious that Ned chose the wrong moment to continue his documentary-style voiceover, as Peter’s head whips around, honing in on the source of the noise.

“NED!”

“Damn spider senses!” The camera bounces up and down as Ned sprints for his life, Peter’s thundering footsteps close behind him.

“Ned! Don’t shout that in the library! And be careful with that camera – it’s not mine!”

The middle of a busy street in New York. The camera captures the back of MJ’s head as she weaves through the crowd.

“Keep up, loser.”

The camera jostles slightly as Peter quickens his footsteps to catch up to MJ. He pans to the left and the right, taking in the buildings looming either side of them.

“We’re broadcasting live from the middle of New York with intrepid reporter Michelle Jones, who is hot on the heels of her latest story-”

“Peter!”

“What?”

The camera abruptly swivels around to find MJ, standing in the doorway of a dilapidated two-storey building and beckoning impatiently.

“If you’re done being an even bigger dork than usual, we’re here.”

“I thought it wasn’t possible for me to be a bigger dork than I already am?”

“So did I, but you continue to surprise me.”

MJ leads the way across a dingy, but tidy white tiled foyer towards a reception desk with a petite young Latina woman sitting behind it.

“Hey, Ella. I’m here to talk to Meredith – she should be expecting me.”

The camera zooms in slightly on Ella, who nods at MJ but looks at the camera warily.

“Yeah, she said you’d be by. Who’s this?”

MJ directs a look of irritation at the camera.

“Hey, would you turn that thing off for two seconds?”

“Sorry, sorry!”

In the next shot, Michelle is sat across from an older, dark-skinned woman with braids swept up into a bun on top of her head. They are seated inside a cramped, dimly-lit back office lined with filing cabinets; a few faded posters are visible on the walls, advertising reading competitions from five or ten years ago.

Meredith shoots a glance at the camera. “Okay? Are we good to go?”

“Yep! We are rolling!”

MJ gives Peter a withering look as she pulls out a notepad and pen from the backpack by her feet. She sets a small, old-fashioned dictaphone on one of the filing cabinets next to them.

“Okay. Could you just give your name for the recording?”

“My name is Meredith Felix-Lynch.”

“Thanks, Meredith. And how long have you been head librarian at Dunlop Library?”

Ned’s bedroom this time, which he shares with his ten-year-old brother; Star Wars figurines and miniature Lego models jostle for space with Pokémon plushies and Choose Your Own Adventure novels on the shelves.

Ned sits in the middle of the floor, using a screwdriver to tighten an access panel on the underside of a small, round droid, which looks like BB-8 with wheels. He flips it right-side up and sets it on the ground, next to where Peter is sprawled, eye-level with the little robot. Peter has had a haircut since the last time the two were on camera, and Ned is sporting stubble across his upper lip that has aspirations of being a moustache.

“You know, you could have taken part in this contest with me, if you were still in Robotics Lab.”

“Yeah, I know. I thought about it, but I’m still not ready to take back on everything I was doing before I became Spider-Man. Between patrolling, my assignments and MJ riding my ass at Decathlon practice, I’ve got about as much as I can handle.”

“Wouldn’t it help with your college application, though?”

Peter clears his throat.

“Why don’t you show me what this thing can do?”

Ned picks up a boxy black remote controller from the floor. It resembles a gaming controller, to the point where it might have started out life as one and then gained a lot of extra buttons and dials.

“For the contest, we need to be able to demonstrate three types of independent movement, so…”

Ned pushes down on one of the analogue sticks. Lights on the little droid flare into life, and it begins to trundle forward with a whirring noise.

“Coooool.”

“And the head can move, like this-”

The droid swivels its head from side to side, as if looking for the source of a noise.

“It doesn’t have any arms, because you remember what happened in middle school with the Robotics Showdown-”

“They snapped off, yeah.”

“Right, so the third type of independent movement is…”

Frowning now in concentration, Ned pushes down hard on a large blue button on the controller, while manipulating the analogue stick at the same time. A noise like a laptop fan running at hyper-speed can be heard, and Peter recoils slightly as his hair is ruffled by a sudden breeze. Slowly, the droid lifts off from the ground until it is hovering a fraction above the floor.

“Oh my god, Ned, you made it fly!”

The boys are shouting now to be heard above the noise of the boosters.

“Pretty cool, right? But you have to be careful, because it overheats really quickly and when that happens-”

The noise suddenly cuts out and the levitating droid drops back down to the ground with a sharp thud. Ned winces and Peter recoils and tenses, looking seconds away from leaping towards the ceiling.

“Sorry – I’m still working on actually sustaining that. If I can keep the heat shut-off from engaging, it should be able to get to about a foot above the ground.”

Peter settles back down, crossing his legs and peering at the robot.

“What’s your cooling system?”

“Water-based. I want to fit an extra fan in there, but I’m having serious space issues – I’ll show you…”

Ned lifts up the droid and reveals a round, dark scorch mark where the boosters have scorched the floor. Both boys freeze, staring at it.

“Dude, your mom is going to kill you.”

MJ sitting at a little wooden desk in her study at home, an anglepoise lamp shining on her work, her fingers flying over the keys. Wall-to-wall books fill the background of the shot. MJ is muttering something to herself, dictating the words as she writes.

“Hey, MJ, how long is your piece now?”

MJ continues typing, either ignoring Peter or somehow not hearing what he is saying.

“MJ? You said I could film when I came over… Is this not okay?”

Silence. The clatter of keys.

“MJ?”

“…”

“Wow, you must be really into your writing, huh.”

The camera comes on, and the three people sitting on the picnic blanket immediately groan, throwing their hands over their faces – or in MJ’s case, her book.

“C’mon, Pete, not the camera again!”

“Sweetheart, I love you, but do you think we could give the filming a rest just for one day?”

“Turn it off, Parker.”

“C’mon, guys, please? I really want to get a good grade for this class.”

“Why, so you can pursue your dream of becoming a superpowered Steven Spielberg?”

The camera moves to a low angle as Peter sets it down on the ground a little way away. MJ towers in the foreground, looking disapproving over the top of her book; Ned is amused, leaning back on his hands, while May hides her smile as she unpacks items from the picnic cooler.

“Yeah, maybe! Or, like an indie film creator. Haven’t you always wanted to go to the Sundance film festival?”

“I wouldn’t go there with you, loser.”

Ned snorts with laughter, and May hands out sandwiches and cartons of juice. Peter moves into shot, sprawling backwards until just a pair of gangly legs are visible. May strikes up a conversation with MJ about her piece for the journalism scholarship at Boston, which she has just submitted; MJ holds up her half of the conversation while still appearing to be absorbed in her book, turning pages every now and again.

Peter and Ned tussle over the last mini package of doughnuts, and wind up playing rock paper scissors for it, with May as adjudicator. They draw, and May awards the package of doughnuts to a smirking MJ, over Peter and Ned’s protests.

“You’ll have to put your book down to eat those, MJ, there’s no way you can read at the same time.”

“Watch me, loser.”

A high-pitched, urgent beeping cuts through the conversation. Ned and May start, and MJ peers over the top of her book as Peter extracts his StarkPhone from his bag, looking tense. A red light is flashing insistently on top of the phone.

“It’s Tony, it’s- he’s calling a code red.”

“You’d better go, then, sweetheart.” May speaks with an air of forced calm, her face set in lines of worry.

“But it’s my day off – I can’t go. I didn’t even bring my suit.”

“It’s in the compartment under the cooler.” MJ speaks without looking up from her book.

“It’s- What? What compartment?”

“There’s a catch on the side.”

“What? That can’t-”

MJ sighs and lunges across the picnic blanket to reach the cooler. A clicking sound is heard and in the next moment, she pulls Peter’s Spider-Man suit from an opening in the bottom of the cooler. She hands it to Peter, who frantically tries to hide it with his jacket, glancing around him.

“You can thank me later for actually being prepared. Now go save some civilians or whatever.”

“May? Are you sure you’re okay with-”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sweetheart. MJ’s right; you go save the day.”

Peter stands up and rises out of shot. Ned’s eyes meet Peter’s, off-camera, and he gestures covertly to his phone, then looks slightly crestfallen at Peter’s response. The camera picks up the sound of footsteps running across the grass; a few moments later, MJ reaches over and turns off the camera.

“Okay, we’re rolling! C’mon, open it.”

MJ shoots the camera a look of annoyance from her desk chair. She, Ned and Peter are crowded into her study, MJ seated at the desk with an envelope in her hands. The camera is set at MJ-eye-level, and only the lower half of Ned is visible as he stands next to her.

“Do we have to film this? It’s probably gonna be a rejection letter.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ve read your piece – it’s awesome.”

MJ smiles slightly and runs a finger under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open, then unfolds the letter. As she begins to read, the smile drops off her face.

Peter’s voice comes from behind the camera: “MJ? What’s wrong?”

“MJ…” Ned, reading over her shoulder.

MJ takes in a shuddering breath, the hands holding the letter beginning to shake.

“Oh, Jesus, MJ-” The camera shuts off abruptly.

The next shot shows Peter and MJ from much further away, the camera filming them from through the half-open door. MJ is sobbing into her hands, the letter discarded on the desk, as Peter hovers uncertainly, finally settling one hand on her shoulder.

MJ’s voice is muffled and thick with tears, but just barely audible.

“It’s such a load of crap. The whole scholarship system.”

“I don’t get it, MJ – how could they reject you? You’re an amazing writer, you write with passion, you picked a fascinating topic and did all this original research-”

“Peter. Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to say all that stuff just to make me feel better.”

Peter sits down on the edge of the desk, which creaks slightly under his weight, and stares at MJ in bewilderment.

“But I’m not, MJ, I’m being honest. Look, I know I�� run my mouth faster than my brain, and half the stuff that comes out of it doesn’t make sense, but this is true, okay? I was there when you interviewed Meredith; I saw how much she trusted you and you got her to open up. You’re so good at this, MJ, and it sucks ass that they can’t see it.”

“Yeah, well, fat load of good it’s done me. Whatever I did, it wasn’t enough.”

“But you… At least you tried, okay – you worked your ass off, you knew what you wanted and you went for it. You have something to show for what you did. Better than being too afraid to try.”

MJ wipes the tears away with the heels of her hands and looks up at Peter, assessing.

“I think you’re so amazing, MJ – what you do is gonna change the world. Way more than anything I do.”

MJ snorts, disbelieving. “Being a journalist is hardly gonna save lives-”

“No, it is!” Peter has stood up again and is gesturing for emphasis, all energy and motion. “You’re gonna – help people tell their stories, expose injustices and blow corruption cases wide open. Being a superhero is like – flashy stuff, swooping in to save the day but never really dealing with the real issues. That part… That’s the really hard work. That’s what you do.”

Peter and MJ look at each other for a long moment.

From behind the camera, barely audible, Ned can be heard breathing, “Come on…”

“You inspire me so much, MJ, and I never know how to – to show you how I feel, except-”

Peter sways forward, and MJ leans up, and their lips meet in the middle.

The camera swings away, and bounces as Ned jogs down the corridor until he is out of earshot.

“YES! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…”

The almost-completed Millennium Falcon sits in the middle of Peter’s bedroom floor, with Peter and Ned either side of it. Ned is holding a Lego brick in one hand and looking across at his best friend, who is lying half out of shot, with only his legs and half of his torso visible. A loud snoring sound emanates from off-camera.

Ned extends one foot and nudges Peter’s leg.

“Hey. Peter, wake up.”

He nudges a little harder.

“Pete!”

Peter jerks away suddenly, and his legs disappear out of shot; a second later, he crawls back into frame, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m kind of tired at the moment.”

“No kidding, you almost dozed off in Biology earlier. Were you out late patrolling last night?”

Peter scratches the back of his head and looks away.

“Nah, I was actually up late finishing my application essay for MIT.”

“You what? What time did you submit it?”

“Uh, I think it was around 4am.”

“What? But the application window closed at midnight! Did Mr. Stark pull some strings to let you-”

“No! Tony doesn’t know about it. But I called ahead, and they said they’d consider it. It’s… my own fault if I don’t get in, so I don’t want anyone calling in favours. Besides, if I don’t get into MIT, I have some other ideas. I might go to Columbia to study film. Or maybe photography.”

“Wow… Really? Photography?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. The whole documentary thing has been a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

Ned glances at the camera and away again, his expression uncertain.

“Well, y’know, I’m happy for you whatever you decide to choose. But I thought we were gonna be MIT buddies. That was our plan.”

“We are! I mean, we still could be. But you knew I was having second thoughts about applying to college, and…”

“You said you were going to apply anyway! Or did you just say that to make me back off, like your aunt?”

“No! No, Ned, c’mon, it’s not like that.”

Peter runs his hands through his hair, which is flattened on one side from his nap on the floor.

“I just… I wanted to do it properly, if I was gonna do it, but my heart wasn’t in anything that I was writing. I went through like a billion drafts, until last night… I guess you could say I got inspired.”

Ned looks at his best friend, and raises his eyebrows in an Ohhh kind of way. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with…”

Peter’s ears turn bright red. He looks at the floor and picks up a Han Solo minifigure. “Yeah, maybe.”

Ned laughs, and he reaches out to give Peter’s shoulder a soft punch. “Well, glad you finally got your shit together. In multiple senses.”

Peter laughs awkwardly and runs his hand over his hair again, flattening it back down. Ned picks up a single Lego brick from his side of the model and hands it across to Peter.

“Well, while you were napping, I all but finished building the Falcon. The last piece is yours, my friend.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and he tries to hand the brick back to Ned. “No, I can’t! You should have the last piece.”

“Nah, I insist.”

Peter hesitates.

“C’mon, Parker, pull your weight. I’ve been doing all the building and my arms are tired.” Ned stretches his arms above his head in an exaggerated fashion. Peter laughs.

“Okay, okay. Are you ready?”

Ned improvises a drumroll on the floor as Peter places the last brick on the Falcon with a flourish and gently presses it down.

“There.”

Ned and Peter nod solemnly at each other across the model. Peter picks up the Han Solo minifig, and tweaks one of its little arms to extend outwards. Grinning, Ned does the same with the Luke Skywalker figurine, and the two minifigures come together to “fistbump” in midair.

The camera gazes lengthways down the dinner table at the Parker house, which is laid with nice silverware and delicate china crockery, the kind reserved only for special guests. A pair of hands – recognisably Peter’s – comes into shot and gently sets down a large bowl full of noodles in the foreground. Further down the table, May Parker, visible from the shoulders down, is laying out bowls of stir-fried vegetables and curry.

A woman wearing a long, elegant wine-red dress, visible only from the waist down, walks into shot and pulls out a chair.

“This looks delicious, Mrs. Parker.”

“Oh, it’s May, please. I’m really still learning… I’m sure this is nothing compared to the kinds of world-class cuisine that you and Tony must have cooked for you on a regular basis.”

“Aunt May’s being modest. Her cooking is really great – especially Asian-inspired food.”

“Thai is our household favourite. There’s soy sauce and chilli sauce here in case you want to add any. I should really have put out chopsticks instead of knives and forks, to be more authentic.”

Tony Stark sits down heavily in the chair next to Pepper. “I’m never authentic. Can’t use chopsticks to save my life. Pepper can – she’s good with them. Me, I always ask for a fork.”

Pepper shakes her head, long hair brushing over her shoulders. “Even when he was dining with the Prime Minister of Japan.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t ask for a cheeseburger.”

Laughter. Peter’s fingers briefly blur into view and he adjusts the camera downwards so that only the guests’ torsos and hands are visible.

The group begins to eat dinner; they make small talk and lean over each other to pass various dishes. Compliments flow freely about the quality of the food.

“So, Peter… How are college applications going? Tony said you were having some concerns about balancing college with your superhero duties.”

Pepper’s tone is careful and tactful, her cutlery pausing delicately above her plate as she asks the question. The light glints off the vibranium ring on her finger, the twin to Tony’s, but with smooth, curved lines instead of blocky, angular ones.

Peter sets his cutlery down with an overly loud clank as he hastens to answer Pepper’s question.

“I was, but uh, I think I’ve made up my mind now. I wanna make sure I have a good future that isn’t just about Spider-Man.”

“Is that right? That’s very mature of you, Peter.”

“Yeah, what’s gotten into you, Pete?” Tony jokes. “No, seriously, it’s a good decision, but what prompted it? I know it can’t have been my words of wisdom.”

Peter laughs a little nervously, toying with his cutlery.

“No, I- I mean, your advice was good! Really! But uh, I was also inspired by a friend of mine, who’s… got a lot of dreams for the future. It made me want to do the same.”

“Oh really? You’re looking a little red in the face there – is this a friend, or a friend?”

“Tony! Leave him alone. I think that’s wonderful, Peter, and the best of luck to you with your applications.”

“Wasn’t MJ supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago?”

Ned looks up from the Decathlon quiz cards he is currently shuffling. “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe she got held up.”

“I’ve never known her to be late for one of our practice sessions; she’s normally here like an hour before us.”

“It’s probably a test, to see if we keep drilling in her absence. She could be watching us right now to see if we continue.”

Ned nods towards the camera, resting on one end of the library table at which both of them are seated. “Maybe she’s put a bug in that.”

“How could she have? I keep it in my room when I’m not using it.”

“Ah, but MJ’s been in your room a lot lately. Maybe she distracts you with sexy makeout sessions, and then bugs it.”

Peter goes bright red and looks down at the cards in his hands. “So, geology-”

The sound of a door rebounding off a wall is heard somewhere nearby, and both boys look up. MJ enters in a whirl of coat, scarf and messenger bag, and triumphantly slams an open newspaper down onto the table between them.

Both Peter and Ned peer at the paper.

“Wait… is this-?” Peter stares at MJ.

“‘The Fight to Save New York’s Public Libraries’ – by Michelle Jones. Oh my god, they printed your article!”

“Yup. My first print byline. The first of many.”

MJ is smiling broadly, unable to hide how pleased she is.

“MJ, this is incredible!!”

Peter jumps up and grabs his girlfriend’s hands, spinning her round in a circle. She laughs and goes with it, poking his face after they finish.

“Dork.”

Ned is still leaning over the paper on the table.

“Wow. Did you really pitch this to the Editor?”

“Not the Editor-Editor, to the Features Editor. She was really nice, though, and after they accepted my piece she said I should apply for an internship over the summer. A proper work experience internship, not the making coffee kind.”

“Of course it’d be a proper internship! They’d be morons to waste your talents on making coffee.”

Ned clears his throat to interrupt Peter and MJ making eyes at each other.

“Hey, so, we should celebrate! Let’s go to the Waffle House!”

“Ugh, please, we go there all the time. This calls for something better. I want cheesecake pancakes.”

“Aww, but-”

“It’s MJ’s celebration, Ned, she should get to pick. C’mon, they have waffles at IHOP.”

The three move towards the door, and as Peter picks up the camera, Ned can be heard asking,

“So, are you going to frame it?”

“No way. This is going to be the first piece in my portfolio.”

“Well, thank you, Flash; that was a very… evocative piece,” said Ms. Steinberg. She nodded at Flash, standing next to the projector; he looked pleased but uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure whether she might be making fun of him. “I can tell you put a lot of passion into it.”

Flash cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“You can sit down now, thank you. Okay, I think we have time for just one more presentation, so… Who will it be? Peter! Your friend Michelle tells me you’ve barely had a camera out of your hand since we began the assignment.”

Gloria Steinberg smiled widely at Peter, who buried his face in his folded arms. “No, no, it’s a good thing. I can’t wait to see what you’ve produced for your documentary.”

Peter nodded and pushed back his chair with a scraping noise, making his way awkwardly to the front of the room. He clutched a dog-eared sheaf of paper in one hand.

After a prolonged period of setting up the projector and a heart-stopping moment where the video seemed like it might not play after all, thanks, Peter had his film cued up and ready to go. Clearing his throat nervously, he addressed the class.

“So… Hi everyone. I’m Peter Parker, and this is my documentary presentation. The title is Perseverance.

“I mostly think that the film speaks for itself, so I’m just gonna hit play, and uh, I’m happy to answer any questions afterwards about the footage, the editing, the choice of shot or well, anything, really.”

Peter went to hit ‘Play’ on the laptop next to him, then paused.

“And uh, even though they’re not here, I’d like to thank my close friends and family for putting up with me while I shoved a camera in their faces for three months.”

That got a quiet chuckle, including from Ms. Steinberg. Peter smiled and pressed Play.

The film began.

 The film opens with a shot of Peter and Ned, sitting on Peter’s bedroom floor, with the beginnings of what will be their greatest Lego project of all time scattered around them. The audio is silent. The two boys exchange their secret handshake, before beginning to assemble the base of the structure.

Cut to Aunt May’s hands, arranging vegetables on the chopping board, then slowly and methodically beginning to chop them up. Her voice can be heard narrating,

“The instructor said that the key to this is not to raise the knife too high when chopping. It’s all about efficient, controlled movements… see how I’m keeping it even? I haven’t been going to cookery classes for very long, but you’d be surprised at how much technique goes into something like chopping vegetables – at least for professional chefs. For us amateurs, it’s not such a big deal… But still, I’m trying to make sure I have the basics mastered before I try anything more ambitious.”

Cut to Michelle, seated at her laptop and typing furiously. The camera zooms in on her screen. Peter’s voice reads, “‘The Fight to Preserve New York’s Public Libraries in the Digital Age’.”

“It’s just an outline,” Michelle says, sounding slightly embarrassed.

Cut to a pair of hands – Tony’s – de-soldering a component from the circuitboard of a Starkphone, wicking away the excess solder. “This right here is genius in the making.”

“It doesn’t look like much,” Peter’s voice replies, teasing.

In the next shot, Ned and Peter kneel on the floor of his bedroom with a sea of grid paper between them, on which are sketched the designs that will eventually become Ned’s entry into the National Under 18s Robotics Competition. Ned reaches forward and fans out a few of the sheets.

“This is my project for Robotics Lab – we have to build an independently mobile robot. Also, entries for the National Robotics Competition are open ‘til December, so if I get my shit together, I can enter.”

“Oh my god, you should!”

The film cuts to a time-lapse shot of Peter and Ned in the middle of Peter’s bedroom, gradually piecing together the Millennium Falcon.

Then May, sitting at the kitchen table, poring over a cookbook with a pencil in one hand, making notations in between the instructions. A series of print-outs sits by her elbow, with names of cooking techniques and clip-art diagrams.

The next shot is of MJ on a busy New York street, looking impatiently back at the camera before she disappears instead a shabby building. Cut to MJ and Meredith, sitting across from one another in Meredith’s cluttered office. The audio is just too soft to make out what they’re saying, but Meredith is holding forth with passion, gesturing, while MJ nods intently. She makes notes on her pad in shorthand without looking down, never breaking eye contact with Meredith.

Cut to Ned in the school Robotics lab after hours, goggles clamped over his eyes, oblivious to the camera and the empty lab growing darker around him. A single lamp illuminates his workspace as he peers into the half-constructed shell of his BB-8 droid, the distinctive rounded appearance already taking shape.

Back to MJ, on her laptop, typing up research in a fury of tapping keys and muttering under her breath.

Another time-lapse shot of Peter and Ned constructing the Millennium Falcon, weaving through the film’s narrative like a thread.

Then it’s back to Aunt May in the kitchen, trying out her Thai-inspired stir-fry for the first time. She drops the ingredients into the pan and shakes it a little as the oil starts to hiss and smoke. Unknowingly, she leaves the wooden spoon perilously close to the gas ring, and as she turns away to study the recipe, it immediately catches fire.

Peter shouts a warning, and May rushes to extinguish the flames; Peter scrambles to turn the camera off as he goes to help her.

Another close-up of Tony’s hands in the lab, as he holds a strange, glowing (possibly extraterrestrial) power source in a pair of tongs and lowers it down into the open chassis of a StarkPhone. For two seconds, nothing happens; then there is a loud sizzling sound, and what looks like bright blue lightning surges along the wires and circuits of the phone. With an abrupt crack and a curl of smoke, every single circuit shorts out.

Peter starts coughing behind the camera, as Tony waves his hand to dispel the smoke. “Mother-” The rest of the long string of expletives that follows is bleeped out.

Cut to Peter and Ned, sprawling on the floor of Ned’s bedroom as Ned demonstrates the controls for his droid. It trundles back and forth, swivels its head, and then with a noise like a jet engine powering up, slowly lifts off from the ground. Peter and Ned cheer in triumph, just a few moments before the droid’s engines abruptly cut out, and it goes crashing back to the floor with an ominous-sounding crack.

Then it’s Peter and MJ, shot from a distance through the frame of MJ’s bedroom doorway, as MJ sobs into her hands, the rejection letter discarded on her desk. Peter hovers, one hand extended uncertainly, before he rests it on her shoulder, a silent gesture of support.

The film lingers on this shot for a time, slowly fading to black.

In the next shot, Peter and May are cooking coconut laksa together in the kitchen, laughing as Peter whizzes around gathering ingredients and May tosses vegetables in the pan.

Cut to May, Peter, Pepper and Tony sitting down to an array of home-cooked dishes, all expertly prepared by May Parker. Everyone starts to serve themselves, and compliments to the chef fly freely, which May deflects, flustered but delighted.

Next, Peter and Ned sit on the floor of Ned’s bedroom as Ned demonstrates his completed, improved robot. The droid does a lap of the floor, turning its head from side to side as if watching a tennis match, before returning to the middle of the floor. This time when Ned presses down on the blue button, the droid lifts off with a slightly quieter whirring, and hovers a full foot above the ground before its creator guides it gently back down.

Peter whoops and reaches out to give Ned a high-five, pounding him on the back.

Close-up on the bench in Tony’s workshop, where a pair of hands (Tony’s, as usual) are pressing closed the case of a brand new StarkPhone.

“All right, now let’s see if this thing will turn on… Say your name.”

“My name? Uh, Peter Parker.”

The phone lights up, a blue light shining out from the screen as a Karen-like voice intones: ‘Welcome, Peter.’

“Oh my god!” Peter exclaims from behind the camera. “It worked!”

“Yup. It’s all yours, kid. Try not to break this one.”

Cut to Peter and Ned, reviewing their Decathlon cards together in the library as MJ whirls into view, slamming the newspaper with her byline down on the table in front of them. Peter and Ned lean forward together to peer at the text.

“Wait, is this-?”

“The Fight to Save New York’s Public Libraries – by Michelle Jones. Oh my god, they printed your article!”

“Yup. The first of many.”

Peter jumps up from his chair and spins MJ around in a circle, both of them laughing.

The film fades to a shot of Ned and Peter sitting either side of the Millennium Falcon, which is one brick away from being completed. Ned solemnly hands the last brick over to Peter, and does a drumroll on the floor as Peter presses the brick into place.

Peter picks up the Han Solo minifigure, and Ned picks up Luke Skywalker, and the two minifigs “fistbump” each other in midair above the completed Millennium Falcon.

Fade into Peter, Ned and MJ sitting at a table at IHOP, celebrating MJ’s first print byline. MJ is ribbing Peter mercilessly about the enormous plate of pancakes in front of him while Ned laughs.

Then Peter gets to his feet, raising his coffee, and proposes a toast: “To Michelle Jones – New York’s newest and greatest hotshot investigative reporter!”

“To MJ!” Ned cries and thrusts his hot chocolate into the air.

MJ shakes her head, but she’s laughing, and she raises her own cup to join them. “Watch out, world,” she says.

The three of them clink cups, and the film fades to black.

[cherriesfineline]

MEET HALFWAY OUR NEEDS - one shot

a/n: hi! this is my first time ever posting one of my writings online (I'm about to shit myself but oh well). I literally wrote this so fast I'm impressed, but anyways I (kind of) proof read this -not really- just quickly read through it after I finished it. English isn't my first language (I'm so self conscious I'm probably gonna say that every time I post something) but besides that, I really hope you enjoy this <3 feedback is truly appreciated, it helps me improve!

-Joey

Pairing: Harry x Y/N

Warnings: detailed sexual content

Word count: 9.2k (of mostly smut??? sorry)

the one where Harry wants to get married but Y/N doesn't.

As you grow older, you start realizing life isn't as easy as it seemed when you were a kid. Not everyone gets lucky enough to have a job they're passionate about. Not everyone can satisfy all their necessities. In fact, you realize it's most people instead of "not everyone".  Friendships and relationships won't last you a lifetime (those promises of being there for each other forever now seem like genuine naiveness) if you don't put enough effort in them. When you are young you believe that being able to play for hours straight without getting bored is what true friendship is about. And maybe it is, during those years.  Adult relationships require a lot of time, and effort. And sometimes, sacrifice. Conversations have a different weight, and being able to trust someone with your most uneasy thoughts and experiences is hard. To find and to keep.  When it comes to love, you start realizing that the thrill and intensity of teen romance isn't what true love is about. It's not about getting into fights, hardcore jealousy and toxicity behaviors. It's about being able to just be there, with that someone. Being able to coexist in each other's worlds, share what you're passionate about without any fear or remorse, being able to communicate. To ask for help when needed. Now, that doesn't mean things can't get complicated.  For the past two months, Y/N and Harry's relationship has been balancing on a very, extremely, thin line.  After six years of being together, and three of those living together, being the happiest they've ever been, everything started to look different for Harry. He was ready to take a step Y/N wasn't.  Harry always knew he wanted to get married, have kids, move to a pretty house outside New York (it's been his favorite city ever since he visited when he was 12, then moving all the way across the globe from Manchester to attend Columbia University). And when he met Y/N, he knew she was the one he wanted all that with. But Y/N... she wasn't so sure that was the life she wanted. Having kids was a no at least until she was in her 30's. And even then, she knew she'd have to re consider if that's what she really wanted.  She loves kids, she has a couple nieces a nephew's (coming from a big family has it's perks) and she's a preschool teacher. She's good with kids, but she wasn't so sure she'd be a great mother. Not for a specific reason, but she really feels like that's the case. Taking care of someone else's kids versus your own is extremely different. Now... it gets even more complicated when it comes to marriage. She doesn't believe that a piece of paper kept in a legal's office will make any changes in their relationship. It will all stay the same, married or not, so she just doesn't think it's important, nor worth the money.  Harry, on the other hand, thinks marrying her will change everything in his life. For the better. He loves her more than he'll ever be able to put into words. And because he can't put it into words, he feels like it's the actions, small and big, that help him communicate his love a bit better.  He still remembers the moment he mentioned marriage to her (not for the first time, but definitely the first time he actually thought 'ok i really want to marry her right now') like it happened yesterday. He remembers exactly what it felt like to physically feel his heart shatter inside his chest, and the way he silently cried himself to sleep that night with Y/N in his arms.  "Would you ever, uh... consider g-getting married? like, I don't know, if we ever have, like, an actual conversation about it, would you consider it?" He asked her in the middle of their Lord of the Rings marathon.  Harry could feel her intense staring at the side of his face. She was quiet for so long, it killed him. He truly wanted the cushions of their pink couch to just suck him inside the furniture piece.  He wouldn't dare to turn his face. He couldn't look at her, no. Not to face the rejection of his lifetime.  "Uh, I don't think so." She said, and Harry only nodded, thinking the conversation was over

once he felt her move her head to face the television again. "You know how I feel about you and how I feel about marriage. I honestly think it's useless. You don't need a signed paper to know how much I love you, Harry." Her tone was soft, but the words that left her mouth felt like a million knives inside his chest.  That conversation sent him spiraling over a thousand thoughts, overthinking their entire relationship and how he now felt like they were getting nowhere with it.  He respected her decision, though. That's why he didn't bring it up again.  Y/N sensed his mood change that same night. She kept her mouth shut, because she truly didn't know what to say. She didn't understand where he was coming from, or why it was so important to him. At first, she didn't think his mood was affected because of her not wanting to get married, maybe he had something else going on and was struggling to talk about it, but after many sessions with her therapist going over and over their conversations and trying to decipher why everything was so weird between them, she came to the conclusion it might have to do with them not getting married.  She just didn't want it. And she didn't know how to make him understand. But she couldn't lose him either. He was her everything. It took her months to be able to sit next to him like she did the night he was watching The Little Mermaid in the living room of their small New York apartment.  It's been months since they last shared a movie night, or a date. They've been eating dinner while having awkward small talk about their jobs and friends, going straight to bed after cleaning everything up, each to their side. They haven't touched each other except the occasional greeting peck ever since that night. And it was killing both of them, but neither knew how to approach the other.  As she sat down to his right, she saw him tense immediately. It broke her, to see him so on guard around her. Y/N couldn't look away from him, with her body facing him and her head rested on the back of the couch, she wanted to grab his hand so badly, but she didn't know if he'd reject her.  The doorbell rang, and he looked at her for the first time that night. His eyebrows had the cutest frown and she wanted to kiss his forehead to make him relax, but of course, she didn't.  She sent him a shy smile and stood up, going straight to the door and picking up the cash she left prepared on the little table next to it. She could feel his stare burning holes in her back, which sent chills down her spine.  "Thank you so much." Harry heard Y/N say, immediately hearing the door shut. From where he was sitting he didn't have a clear view on who was on the other side of the door. Y/N made her way to their kitchen (to do God knows what, Harry thought) only to appear seconds after with two tubes of ice cream (from his favorite place) and two big spoons.  She sat back down next to him with her legs under her, a little closer than moments ago but still out of Harry's reach.  She handed him one of the tubes, and Harry immediately noticed it was chocolate chip mint, his favorite, he might add. He looked up at her, who gave him a small shrug of her shoulders and a side smile, and he couldn't help but smile widely at her, his deep dimples on full display.  God, I missed those dimples so bad. Y/N thought.  But what she didn't know is that Harry was thinking about how much he missed her. Entirely. He hated himself for overthinking every small detail, and for thinking so lowly of their future. But he couldn't help it. "Thanks." He shyly took the ice cream and started eating right away. Not five minutes later, he grabbed her by her thigh and dragged her next to him, only to have her close to his body. And because he missed her. And her body heat. And her addictive smell of clean soap and vanilla. And a lot of other things which would take a lifetime to enumerate.  She looked at him from her new spot, and due to the proximity, she had to shift her head slightly up to look at his face. She slid her right arm around his left,

carefully looking at him to see any kind of reaction that might show discomfort, and when she noticed his smirk slowly and barely making an appearance, she relaxed next to him, fitting half of her body under his arm, with his elbow resting on her stomach and her head on his upper arm. Half way through the movie, with their ice cream tubes forgotten on their coffee table, Y/N looked back up to him, and even though she's been doing it every two minutes, Harry knew she wanted to say something this time. He doesn't look at her, though, thinking it might shy her away, but right when he was trying to concentrate back on the film, he heard her say something.  It was barely audible, almost like she didn't want him to hear it. Did he imagine it? Maybe he's so deprived from her and her touch and her words that he's finally going insane.  Harry looked at her this time, and looking straight at her grey eyes so closely for the first time in two months felt like a thousand fireworks exploding violently on his stomach.  "Did you say something?" He looked at her confused, and the look on her eyes is so hard to decipher he thinks she definitely said something she's scared to repeat.  "I miss you." Y/N repeated herself, barely louder. But then he knew for sure he didn't imagine it.  His Y/N missed him. For so long Harry thought he was losing her, that after distancing himself from her she finally realized she not only didn't want marriage, but a relationship with him at all. But she missed him. And he missed her.  "You miss me?" He asked, almost like he didn't believe her, his tone was low and his voice sounded deeper that ever.  Y/N nodded, but she felt pathetic. She felt like he didn't miss her like she missed him, maybe he didn't miss her at all. For two months she's been feeling like he wanted out, that this relationship felt like an obligation to him.  Harry felt her slowly sliding away from his arms, and that's when he realized he's been so stuck in his head he still hadn't replied.  "Don't," he quickly grabbed her by her thigh with his hand closest to her body "please, don't go." She stayed still in her place, looking at him with soft but sad eyes. "I miss you so much, Y/N." Harry turned on his spot so he's facing her, and softly cupped her jaw with his free hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You have no idea." He whispered, slowly getting her face close to his while closing his eyes. He kissed her forehead so lovingly she literally burst into tears. Y/N's soft sobs alarmed Harry, lifting her head up by his hold on her jaw. "Please, don't cry baby. It breaks me when you cry."  Y/N shifted on her place so she was with her body facing the back of the couch, her knees pressed against it, but she tilted her body to the side so she could hug Harry. She slowly draped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest.  A sigh of relief left Harry's lips, resting his chin on top of her head while he hugged her back. One of his arms was resting low on her back, while the other one rested on her shoulder, his giant hand cupping her head to softly caress her hair.  They stayed in that position for a long time. Y/N could feel Harry's heartbeat, and how it slowly picked up speed when she pressed her lips to his chest. And even though he was wearing a shirt, Harry could feel the heat of her lips through it. He pressed his own lips on top of her head, leaving them there for a while, almost like a very long, still kiss, until he felt her head shift underneath his lips. He pulled away just barely to allow her to look up at him, and when she noticed him quickly looking down to her lips, she stretched her neck up to press their lips together.  It was a short, very sweet kiss. With fear as an undertaste and nervousness written all over her. She was just scared he was going to leave.  When she pulled away from him, she didn't have time to open her eyes as she felt Harry press their lips together again. This second kiss was almost the same as the first one, insecure.  It's funny, if you think about it. How similar their

feelings were and how scared they were of messing everything up with a single wrong move.  Once Harry pulled away from the kiss he initiated, they locked eyes, yet again. But this time, it was written all over their faces how badly they missed each other, and how much they dreaded to feel the effects each had on one another after so long.  The third kiss they shared, it's initiated from both sides, almost as they were able to read each other's minds. Their lips moved in sync, and as Harry softly captured Y/N's bottom lip between his own to slightly suck on it, she put more pressure into it. The kiss slowly started to gain force, passion and need. But she was scared to take the next step. She wanted him to take the full lead, as opposed to what they were used to, just because she didn't want him to feel like he owed her anything.  And then, he did take that step. The hand he had holding her jaw moved under her hair to grab her by the neck, while slowly tracing her bottom lip with his tongue, asking for access to her mouth. And once she allowed their tongues to meet, his hold on her lower back got stronger, draping his arm completely around her waist to pull her closer. That action made Y/N's body lift up from how strong he was holding her, and she took this as a sign to move. She straddled him on the couch, sinking (almost on slow motion) to sit on top of his thighs. Harry groaned in frustration. She's too far away, he thought.  "Closer." He said in a pleading tone, and Y/N complied immediately. She slid her body up his thighs, and he forced her chest to collide with his. The hand that was holding her neck slowly traced her entire spine, to join his other one on her lower back.  Her tongue felt so warm and soft, so inviting. He had always loved the way she kissed him, with so much passion but with a gentleness that was so her. She managed to fully relax in his hold once her hands found their way to his hair, right behind his ears, and he couldn't help but whimper at the feeling of their groins pressing together.  This sparked a burning fire inside both of them. A fire that burned so good they'd rather die caught on it, than to never feel it again.  Harry slowly slid his hands up and down her sides, all the way from her outer thighs to her side boobs. And when he did it for the second time, on his way up he slid his hands under her shirt instead of continuing their path over it. When his hands stopped at the higher part of their path, he caressed her side boobs with his thumbs, doing the same afterwards right below them, and when she finally grinded down on him, letting a deep groan leave her lips, he cupped her breasts with his hands.  But when she pulled away, he dropped his hands automatically.He started eating his brains out thinking he really messed up, he was taking things down a road she didn't want to take yet, which was okay, it's not like he only wanted her body back, but he was scared he made her uncomfortable.  Only then, his dick grew incredibly hard when she grabbed the hem of her oversized t-shirt to pull it up and off her body. Her perfectly perky boobs bounced slightly when Y/N dropped her shirt on the floor, resting her arms on her sides.  He looked up from the lovely sight of her boobs thinking about how badly he wanted to devour them, only to find her with an uncertain look on her face. And he hated it. He hated the thought of her doubting herself so much.  Harry ran his hands up and down her soft stomach, and then slid them up, softly but barely touching her boobs. His destination was somewhere else (for now), and he grabbed Y/N by her neck to pull her close.  Their lips met again in the softest kiss they shared that night so far, and Y/N melted in Harry's arms like the forgotten ice cream behind her. He kissed the corner of her lips as he pulled her hair slightly so he could start kissing her jawline, down to her neck, leaving pepper kisses all over her skin.  When he reached her collarbone he started sucking and biting (she loved when he bit her) knowing he couldn't do it to her neck

due to her job. She let a moan leave her lips, and when Harry slid one of his hands to grab her by her hip, she grinded down on him again, with more confidence this time.  Harry lowered his face a bit more so he could finally reach one of his favorite features of his Y/N, her boobs. He took her left breast in his mouth, sucking on Y/N's nipple, making her whimper and jerk forward, tightening her hold on his brown locks to pull him even closer. He slid the hand that was holding Y/N's hair down so he could pay attention to both nipples at the same time, while using his hand on her hip to keep a steady peace to her grinding. Once she caught up with the slow but rough peace he wanted, he let go of Y/N's hip to grab the nipple he had in his mouth with in his hand, and he pinched both of them at the same time, rolling the hard buds on his fingers, then moving his mouth to the other one.  He spent a lot of time paying attention to Y/N's nipples, nibbling, sucking, groping, knowing damn well they were extremely sensitive (she could orgasm just by nipple stimulation if done correctly, but she really wanted him right now). Y/N pulled from his hair enough to let him know she wanted something else, and when he let her nipple fall from his mouth, he looked straight into her eyes.  Harry's cheeks were tinted a pretty shade of pink, and Y/N couldn't help but admire the beautiful man under her.  He looked at her with such pure eyes, but lustful at the same time. She didn't understand how he could look so innocent but so fucking hot at the same time, it was unfair how angelic he was.  She grabbed a handful of his shirt, to let him know she wanted it off. Once Harry complied, throwing his shirt somewhere near Y/N's, he immediately reached for her cream silk shorts, tugging the elastic band down as a silent plea for her to get out of them for him.  She stood up from the couch, knowing Harry loved when she undressed herself for him, and still in between his legs holding eye contact, she slowly slid her shorts down her thighs along with her underwear.  Harry couldn't keep eye contact for long, though. His eyes were glued to her glistening core that was slowly making an appearance, and he was getting frustrated at how slow she was being.  He sat straighter on the couch so he could reach for her, and slid his hands down the front of her thighs, and on their way up he slowly slid them to their insides, getting close to where she wanted him. He slid one of his hands down again, but this time he grabbed her right leg from behind her knee, to pull it up. He made her rest her feet outside his thigh, which was now in between her legs. In this new position he got a clear view of her pretty pussy, all on display for him.  "So wet, baby." He whispered, and she couldn't help but return her hold on his hair to pull him closer to her. "All for me?" Harry asked her, looking up to stare at her right in the eyes. When she nodded, he hummed in response. "Let me take care of you, it's been so long. You probably need it so much, don't you?" His voice was so fucking deep and raspy she nodded desperately in response. Y/N couldn't handle much teasing, and she let Harry know by tightening her grip yet again, and forcing his face to be so close she could feel his breathing on her.  "Please, Harry." She pleaded. Harry loved teasing her, but he knew it's been a long time, he didn't want to frustrate her much.  He finally licked very slowly up her folds, all the way from her opening to her clit, humming when he reached her sensitive bundle of nerves. Y/N let out a long sigh of pleasure, her eyelids fluttering shut. She felt like she could literally come just by that, and when he closed his lips around her clit, she grind her hips against his lips. He started switching between sucking and pressing his tongue on her clit until he started to move it, creating undefined figures with the tip of his tongue.  They missed each other so much, so so much. And they both knew sex wouldn't magically fix everything. They knew they needed to work things out. But

sometimes conversation needs a little push, something to remind them why they need to fix things. The magnetic pull they felt towards each other was unbearably strong. They needed each other, in every imaginable way, but at that moment, they needed each other's bodies and emotion, no words needed. Just feel each other close.  Harry gave her clit a sweet kiss, and looked up at her while his fingers traveled up and down her folds, until they found their home in her opening. He searched her eyes for approval, and when she whispered a soft 'please' he slowly sank his ring and middle finger, knuckle deep. She whimpered loud at the sudden pressure, and he groaned at the tightness of her hole.  He rested his forehead on her navel for a second to let her adjust, and when he felt her grind on his fingers, he held her gaze while lining his mouth with her clit yet again. Harry started to work his fingers in and out of her, sucking on her clit. But what turned him on the most was her slow grinding on his face and fingers, like she was fucking his fingers nstead of his fingers fucking her.  Harry used his free arm to slide it under her leg that was up on the couch, and grabbed her ass with a tight grip to pull her even closer.  The pleasure was beginning to feel overwhelming, the pressure deep down on her belly begging for release was making her desperate. Y/N's moans and breathy sighs were becoming louder and consistent and the way he could feel her legs slightly shaking gave away how close she was to her release.  Harry wanted her to make a mess on his face, so badly. He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his tongue, not before he moved his fingers one last time to massage her spongy spot at the front of her insides. He fucked her with his tongue as he used his soaked fingers to stimulate her clit, circling in the fast and rough peace he knew she enjoyed so much.  Her insides felt like a rocket about to launch, between his moans sending vibrations through her entire body and his fingers stimulating her clit the way she exactly needed, she became a moaning mess. Y/N couldn't comprehend how she was still standing up, even though Harry's arm under her thigh was holding most of her weight up, her knees were about to give up soon.  "H-Harry, I'm so close," Y/N spoke as clearly as possible, knowing her panting was messing with her words, "please don't stop." He admired the way her jaw tightened and relaxed, her mouth opening shortly after, making a perfect 'o' with her eyes pressed shut.  With one specific movement of Harry's tongue, she finally let go. With her eyes rolling back she let a couple of continuous 'fuck's quickly leave her mouth. Her entire body jolted forwards, bending a bit over him while his mouth was still attached to her core, helping her ride her orgasm, making it last for as long as possible.  Y/N pulled Harry away from her with her grip on his hair once it became too much, and looked down at him. Without a second thought she bent down to lock her lips on his, with so much force it threw him back into his original seated position on the couch.  "Take your pants off, now." She demanded, but adding an almost inaudible 'please', mostly for her. He happily obliged, taking his boxers down with them, imitating her previous actions. His cock sprung free, and he hissed at the feeling of freedom. Harry was so focused on her he didn't realize how painfully hard he was. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his chest with so much force it was almost alarming. He needed her so, so badly. Once his pants and boxers were thrown and forgotten on the floor, she straddled him.  Giving him a quick but soft kiss on the lips, she began making her way down his neck, reaching back up again to (what she knew) was his most sensitive spot behind his ear. Y/N sucked a small bruise, and he whimpered. God, Y/N loved those small noises he made. She kissed her favorite beauty mark on the right side where his neck meets his shoulder, and that small action alone made his heart feel like someone was squeezing and

twisting it. He missed those small loving details from her.  Y/N kept making her way down his chest, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses all over him, not forgetting to suck and nibble at his nipples. She loved taking care of him. All of him. And the way he enjoyed her playing with his nipples was something he was always scared of admitting, but he knew he didn't have to ask her to do it, because she just knew.  She sunk down to her knees, still sucking and licking the skin all over his stomach while caressing his thighs (Oh, those thighs). Y/N finally grabbed his dick and slowly stroked him all the way from his base to the tip, collecting some of the precum leaking from his deep pink, swollen head. He groaned loudly, lifting his hips to fuck her fist once. She took that as a sign to lower her head even more, his cock now in front of her face.  "Want my mouth, baby?" She tapped her plump lips with his tip, and when he looked down at her, she moved her closed lips around him, almost like she was using his precum as lipgloss, her hand still slowly moving up and down his length. She got him hypnotized. "Hmm?" She raised her eyebrows at him.  "Y-yes, please." He heavily sighed. His begging made her drip down her thighs, he knew how much she loved it, and she knew he loved begging too, maybe even more than her. She always took such good care of him.  She swirled her tongue around his tip once, then proceeded to lick up his shaft a couple of times like his dick was an ice lolly. Once she finally wrapped her lips around his tip, he sighed in relief, and relaxed his shoulders. Harry's hands grabbed her neck to pull her head down, and she surprised him when she suddenly deep throated him before even working her way there.  "Fucking hell, Y/N." He moaned when he felt her humming around him. Harry grabbed her hair making a shift ponytail, to help her get her hair out of the way, and using his grip on it to lift her head, her mouth left his dick, and he smirked at the small pout on her lips. "You are so perfect." She ignored him and tried to lean forward again, which made him smile at how desperate she was. He let her get what she wanted, allowing her lips to wrap around his tip again. She licked up his slit and swirled her tongue around him, and hollowed her cheeks to suck on his tip. She took more of him in her mouth, using her right hand to work on his base and her left to gently cup his balls and play with them.  Harry knew he wouldn't last long. It's been a while since they've done anything remotely sexual, and his hand... his hand wasn't her. So even though he could get himself off, nothing in the world would compare to how it felt when it was his Y/N pleasing him.  His breathing became irregular as she bobbed her head up and down his length in a steady rhythm, and when she tugged on his balls he knew he had to pull her away right that second, or he would come. And he really wanted to, but not like this.  "Baby, please," he tried to pull her head away with a tug on her ponytail, but she didn't oblige. Instead, she looked up at him through her eyelashes, still bobbing her head up and down on him, and that sight alone could make him come in a heartbeat. But he kept it together. "I wanna come inside you, p-please."  And that made Y/N pull away, her mouth making a 'pop' sound when she let his dick fall from her lips. She then straddled him, her hands finding their home right behind his ears, grabbing him by his hair, while his made their way around her body, hugging her close. His dick fit perfectly between her lips, and Y/N grinded on him to feel his wet cock slide through her folds, creating the most delicious friction. Harry kissed her passionately, trying to pour everything he felt in the kiss. And Y/N did feel it, because she was trying to do the same. They repeated the action a couple of times until she reached in between them to grab a hold of him, positioning him on her opening.  And when she finally sank down on him, they locked gazes. They sat still, connected. They were so close. They felt so close.  Harry

nudged her nose with his, softly brushing their lips together. He then noticed a single tear run down her cheek, and reached for her face quickly. Right before it got in her mouth he caught it with his thumb, and she leaned in his touch.  They didn't say a word. Just sat still.  With Harry caressing her cheek, and Y/N looking straight into his eyes. Y/N leaned forward to capture his top lip between hers, leaving the sweetest kiss, repeating the action with his bottom lip. After, she went for the right corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline, his pulse point, behind his ear. And repeated the exact same trail on the left side of his face, finishing with his top and bottom lips, one last time before starting to slowly grind and circle her hips on him.  Harry just couldn't stop staring at her. The amount of love and adoration he held in his heart for that woman was beyond words, and actions. And he then understood. He understood that he could live a life without marriage if it meant living it with her. He could handle it. He would get over it.  He involuntarily dropped his head back and shut his eyes with so much force, while hissing through gritted teeth when she finally lifted her weight on her knees, sliding up on his dick until he was almost entirely out, only to sink back down roughly, going so deep it made both of them moan loudly at how tight she was.  She slid one of her hands around his neck to grab him by his chin, forcing him to look at her. Y/N kissed him again, and this time their kiss was messy and desperate, between crashing teeth and loud moans due to her fucking him with all she got.  She let go of Harry's mouth to sit straighter, using his shoulders as support to move faster. This position gave Harry a view he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. He could see his cock, so drenched of her arousal, and her pussy taking him so well. The wet sounds leaving their connected centers were magical, so erotic, accompanied with the small whimpers and moans coming out of her perfect lips.  Harry thought she looked like a fucking goddess, with her round and perky tits bouncing up and down every time her tight pussy took him entirely.  "You're being so good, baby. Letting me fuck you just how I like it." She whispered to him, staring at his heart shaped, swollen lips. The lips she was so addicted to.  "You take such good care of me, angel. Always." He replied, looking into her eyes which were still glued to his lips. She licked her own, and moved forward to crash them against his on another messy kiss.  They both were so close. Harry couldn't understand how he managed to hold his release for so long, but he was proud of himself.  Y/N separated their lips for a moment to make him suck her point and middle finger, which he complied immediately, knowing exactly what she was doing. He then watched her lower her hand between their bodies again, but this time to reach for her clit, where she started to gently rub circles, stimulating herself.  Harry started thrusting up with force, to meet her halfway, tightening his grip around her middle. Y/N bit down his shoulder to stifle a loud moan, which only made Harry thrust faster.  "Please come for me, Y/N, I wanna feel you come all- all around my cock." He managed to plead between breathy whimpers. And it only took a few more thrusts from him to make her insides explode in the most blissful sensation, like electricity running all the way from her belly to her toes. She stiffens in his hold, her inside walls tightening and clenching so hard it almost sends him out of her, making his balls tighten right before he lets go. She could feel him emptying inside her, his spurts of cum filling her up, leaving both of them exhausted, satisfied and utterly fucked.  None of them moved for a while. Y/N's breathing calmed him, almost like a lullaby, and the way Harry was gently stroking her back made goosebumps erupt all over her body.  Without any warning, Harry stood up, making Y/N wrap her legs around him, she hissed through the feeling of his dick moving while still

inside her, and she bit down his shoulder again. She didn't question what he was doing, she didn't care.  Harry sat her down on a cold surface after turning the lights on, and when she opened her eyes she realized he sat her in their bathroom counter. He put some space between them so he could finally look at her again. The fact that they barely spoke during sex today (when they were usually pretty vocal) made everything so... different. Not in a bad way, though. It made them both enjoy sex as the pure performance of just loving someone. No need of crazy positions, weird kinks or edging each other the way they're used to. Just love. The need to feel connected. The need of physically demonstrating each other's love. How they are each other's entire world.  "I'm gonna clean us up, okay?" Harry told her softly, and she only nodded in response. She leaned in to give him a soft kiss, which honestly caught Harry off guard now that the sexual act was over. But made him happy nonetheless. She was scared of him shutting her out again. But he was scared of her getting tired of him.  He knew she was a free soul. She wanted so many things, and settling down to start a family like he wanted to wasn't in her near plans, maybe in her plans at all. And he knew that. He understood it, and he respected it. He just thought about how badly he truly wanted that life with her. He was just scared she would let him go.  They both looked down and hissed the moment he slid out of her. Harry had the perfect view of their mixed cum dripping down her core, making a mess on the marble counter under her. And Y/N saw his dick twitch at the sight, but decided against commenting on it. Even though it made her slightly smirk.  Harry took his time cleaning both of them, and Y/N didn't look away from him. Not even for a second. He lifted her up again and literally sat her down on the toilet so she could pee. They've done this a thousand times, it was normal for them, she wasn't modest about him seeing or listening to her pee.  After they brushed their teeth next to each other, stealing curious looks (especially Harry at Y/N's boobs through the mirror), they went to bed together.  And for the first time in two months, she rested her head on his chest, with his arms wrapped around her.  The only thing she didn't notice was that once Harry knew she was asleep, he couldn't keep it in. He cried himself to sleep that night. But it wasn't any different from what he was used to from the past couple of months.  The only difference was that this time, he knew he'd give up his dreams if it meant he could keep her around.  &  The next morning, Y/N felt something, or someone, shift behind her. She knew it was Harry. His arm was thrown over her waist, resting dangerously close to her boobs (she secretly loved the way Harry seemed obsessed with her boobs) and she could feel his breathing hit the back of her neck.  She hugged his arm closer to her body to let him know she was awake, which made Harry shift even closer, cup her left breast and press his pretty pink and warm lips to her neck.  "Good morning." She said with a breathy laugh, her morning voice was a sound that drove Harry mad. She sounded way too sexy for her (or his) own good.  "Hi." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, "how'd you sleep?" He left another lingering kiss, this time below her ear.  "Amazing. Haven't slept this good in a while." She replied honestly, wiggling her body back towards him so their torsos were pressing together.  "Mhm, me too." He whispered, tightening his hold around her, his morning wood pressing on her lower back. She could already feel the pool of her arousal in between her legs, and when she arched her back so now his dick was pressing against the curve of her ass, he groaned in her ear.  He slowly started to grind himself against her ass, moving down on the bed a bit so he could better his position. And when she grinded back against him, he reached in between them to position himself on her opening. He pushed the tip in, just enough to feel her tight hole around

him.  "Can I?" He asked her to make sure they both wanted this. When she sighed deeply in pleasure and murmured a 'yes', he slowly thrusted into her, both moaning a bunch of profanities.  They both were huge lovers of morning sex. It increased their moods during their days, helped them relax and carry their days with a carefree feeling. So, he fucked her. Hard. Not even close to how loving they were last night. He woke up with an unbeatable energy, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He fucked her in the position they woke up in. He turned her to her stomach and fucked her while (almost) laying completely on top of her (she loved feeling his weight on her) and he fucked her on all fours, only to end up in their initial position, with her back against his chest on their sides, so he could play with her clit to help her come.  That morning they spent it in bed, Y/N made them breakfast, Harry read a book. They both knew they needed to talk, but they wanted to enjoy some time where everything felt normal between them again. So they avoided the topic.  But the conversation they owed each other kept being pushed. And for another two months, everything slowly started to feel normal again.  Usually, avoiding conversation will lead up to more hurting. But with Y/N and Harry, it ended up becoming a realization point.  Harry got in terms with the fact they wanted different things. He decided she was worth anything and everything in the world, because she was his world. But what he didn't know was that Y/N spent those entire two months imagining what a life like the one Harry wanted with her would be like.  And after one day, on Harry's 28th birthday, during a small walk they were taking on Central Park, she realized she would do anything in the world to make him the happiest man he could ever be. She kissed him so passionately that day, interrupting their walk. He looked at her with a confused look when she pulled away with the brightest smile on her face. But that smile made him confirm he was willing to give up his dream of getting married.  That's why in mid February, Y/N found herself shopping in a very expensive jewelry store. She knew Harry liked that place since his 'H' and 'S' rings were from there. They had an amazing section of handmade rings that she spent a long time going through. She wanted to pick the best one she could find.  She found the prettiest, most fine silver ring with a red stone adorning it's top. She knew he would love it. It definitely didn't look like the typical engagement ring, but nothing about Harry was typical. It would match the rest of his rings lovingly, and Y/N knew he would simply love it. Not only because it was a pretty ring, but because it would mean something big for them.  Three days later, Y/N came back from work to find Harry sitting on their living room couch watching the forecast. Why? Who the fuck knows. He never watched cable TV.  Y/N just stood there for a while, just staring at him.  "Hi, love." He greeted her. "Are you alright?" He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. The crease between them made an appearance, even though it was there most of the time.  "Hey." She finally moved, dropped her keys on the little bowl sitting on top of the small table in the hallway. "All good, gonna put some comfy clothes on really quick." She lied. She just couldn't wait any longer. Watching him sit there all frustratingly beautiful doing absolutely nothing was fucking annoying, it was so unfair how beautiful he was. She had an entire evening prepared but she just couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to do it now.  She dropped her purse on their bed and quickly got rid of her shoes, but didn't change into anything comfier. She just grabbed the small black velvet box from her t-shirt drawer and went back to the living room, sliding it in the back pocket of her jeans so he wouldn't be able to see it.  Harry looked at her with a confused look, wondering why she was still in her work clothes walking directly to him when she said she wanted to change.  She sunk to her knees in

between his legs, which only made him even more confused. "You sure you're alright?" Harry gently asked her. She just hummed in response and grabbed the remote sitting on the coffee table (moving as little as possible, she didn't want him seeing the small bump on her jeans because she knew he would ask about it), and turned back around.  She rested her ass on her ankles, and her arms on top of his thighs. "So..." she started.  "So..." Harry repeated, confused.  "I love you, so very much." Y/N started and Harry's breath got caught in his throat. He wasn't expecting this at all. "So much, you don't even understand." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. They haven't told they loved each other in so long, scared of the other not saying it back. God only knows why, because it was clear as water they still loved each other with their whole beings. "And I know we both always wanted different things."  This is it. Harry thought. She's breaking up with me.  "And I know there are some things I believe that you will never understand, and there are some things I- I didn't understand, for a long time." Harry furrowed her eyebrows further at this last part. Now he truly didn't understand what she was trying to say. "For so long I thought I wanted something, you know? Like I was sure I had it all figured out for myself, the life I wanted. But I actually- I was searching for a life that wasn't mine. And I didn't realize that what I already have is everything I could possibly want." Y/N's cheeks were flushed, tears streaming down her face so fast they were drenching his hands that were now pressed against her cheeks, softly caressing them. "I know now, that love is about finding common ground. Meeting each other's needs. And sometimes we have to step out of our comfort zone to do that. And I came to a conclusion." She swallowed the big lump on her throat, and that finally allowed her to let a long breath leave her chest. "I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that, and I know I struggle sometimes with letting you know how much I adore and admire all of you. But I promise to do my best today, and for the rest of my life, to make sure you know how loved you are. How much I'm willing to do for you. And this took me a while to understand, but I do now. I understand why you felt like you needed to take that 'next step' with us. And I understand why it'd make you as happy as you always said. So, it'd make me really happy to ask you to," Y/N reached her pocket and heard him gasp when she pulled the box in front of him, revealing a beautiful ring for him, "marry me." Harry was speechless. Truly, ultimately speechless. Not only was the love of his life asking him to marry her, she was saying she truly wanted this. Harry's gaze kept going from the ring back to her eyes. And after a while of no one saying anything, Y/N cleared her throat. "H," she whispered, "Will you marry me?" She asked, the soft tone on her voice and the question he dreamed so many times asking her knocked him back to life.  "Yes, yes, Y/N, yes- oh Y/N-" he choked a sob, and the biggest smiles appeared on both their faces. Y/N threw herself to him, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly. He helped her straddle him so he could wrap his own arms around her.  They held each other for a few seconds, both crying the happiest tears they ever let drop, and when she pulled away to put the ring on him, he surprised her by crashing their lips together.  They shared their most passionate kiss in the entirety of their relationship, both still crying, smiling, spilling so much love and adoration with each stroke of their tongues. When he pulled away, she finally placed the box in between them again.  "Can I put it on you? I know you like to wear your 'H' ring on your ring finger, so we could put it somewhere else, you know? And make it our own thing-" Harry interrupted her giving her a soft peck, "or we could-" another kiss, "I don't know." She finally gave in, pressing her lips harder against him.  After another long kiss, he finally told her

where he wanted his ring, and with a last kiss he patted her ass to let her know he needed her to stand up.  "Wait here." He pointed at her, and she sat on the couch with a soft 'okay'.  He returned moments later with his hand behind his back and a lopsided smirk. He sat in the same position she was for her proposal, in between her legs.  Before he said anything, he moved his hands in between them, opening a red velvet box. She gasped like Harry did moments ago when she saw the beautiful ring with a small red stone (yes! Like his own ring) placed on top of a very thin and delicate silver band that was sitting inside the small box.  "It was my grandmother's." Harry said in a quiet tone. "She gave it to me before she passed away a couple months after we met, remember?" She slowly nodded, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. There was so much love written all over his face. "I told her you were it for me. I knew I wanted this with you ever since we met at our university library. She gave it to me in hopes I could... give it to you some time." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I kept it hidden from you all this time. Didn't want you to find it and make everything weird between us. But I'd really love if you could, um... wear it if you want?" He shyly asked.  "It'd be an honor to carry her ring with me, Harry." His face lit up so fast at her response.  "Yeah?" He asked, perplexed.  "Yeah." Y/N replied with a big smile.  "Will you marry me, Y/N?" He asked her this time, and she couldn't help but giggle.  "I asked you first." She pecked his lips. "But yes, Harry. I'll marry you." And she kissed him again, and he couldn't help but smile so widely she ended up with her lips against his teeth.  After putting his grandmother's ring on her, they shared another night of pure, loving sex. None remember how many times they made each other come, but they did have another important conversation between rounds.  "Something else I wanted to tell you..." She said, in between kisses (they loved giving each other soft small pecks all over each other while they were talking). She was straddling him in their bed, his back against the headboard. He didn't want to pull out of her just yet, keeping his cum inside her for as long as possible.  "I know you're ready to have kids, like, right now." She said, and he raised his eyebrows playfully at her. "I can tell by your breeding kink, honestly." He let a loud laugh leave his chest, making her smile too. It was honestly hilarious, I mean, look at their position.  "I decided I really want to have kids with you." He gasped, "But..." he sunk down in his position, a visible pout on his lips, which she kissed away from him. "Promise me you'll wait for me, until I'm in my 30's" He locked eyes with her. She really wanted this. So much.  "Only three more years?!" He asked with so much hope.  "Three more years and we can start trying, I promise. I just thought that- that we could get married now, have some time as a married couple, you know? To enjoy ourselves." She shrugged and he couldn't help but smile widely and her, nodding frantically. "That way we are both adapting to each other, you know? Meet halfway our wants."  "God, I love you so much." He chose to say, instead of replying straight away. "I'll wait a lifetime to have kids with you if that's what you wanted, just please- decide before you reach menopau-" He couldn't even finish his sentence since she shut him up by putting her hand over his mouth.  "Don't even say it. God, I don't wanna be old." She sighed in frustration.  "I honestly can't wait to grow old with you." Harry said with such a loving tone, like an enamored teenager, hugging her closer to him. And she couldn't help but smile back at him. Because even though ageing scares her, she's ready to spend the rest of her life with him.  "I love you, my angel." Y/N told Harry, before kissing his lips, yet again. 

"I love you, my Y/N." Harry whispered to her, keeping her face close to his. 

X

Thank you so much for reading! Have a lovely day <3

-Joey

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested. 

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no? 

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.) 

           You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

           And then the Battle of New York had happened.

           You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

           But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

           After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.  

           You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

           And now you were about to walk into his class.

           Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

           Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

           You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

           “Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

           You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

           “U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

           Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

           He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s-            “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

           The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

           “Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

           His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

           “You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

           The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

           “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

           Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

           “Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

           “Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

           “Any questions?”

           There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

           “Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

           Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

           “That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

           Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

           He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

           A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

           As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

           A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

           But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

           The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

           Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.            

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink.            “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé  about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

           Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

           This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

           After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

           “This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

           Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

           “(Y/N), is that you?”

           …Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

           Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

           “Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

           “Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

           You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

           “Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

           “Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

           “The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

           “Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

           “Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

           Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

           “It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

           You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

           “Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

           “Thanks, doll.”

           You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

           “N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

           “I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

           Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

           “Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

           “Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

           He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

           “No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

           Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

           You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

           “Steve?”

           He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

           “Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

           “It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

           “Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

           You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

           “I’m just joking,” you assured him.

           “Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

           You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

           Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

           “You ok over there, doll?”

           “Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

           “Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

           “Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

           You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

           For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

           “Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

           You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

           “Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

           You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

           “No problem, hon.”

           You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

           How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

           Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

           Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

           But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

           You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

           He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

           He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

           You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

           His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

           With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

           He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

           His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

           But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

           All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

           He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

           You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

           Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

           When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

           As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

           “Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

           “Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

           You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

           “Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

           When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

           “Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

           After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

           The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

           Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

           When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

           “Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

           “So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

           “For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

           You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

           “If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

           A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

           “…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

           When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

           Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

           “Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

           “Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

           You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

           “Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

           “A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

           “Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

           “Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

           You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

           “It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

           “It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”  

           Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

           “Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

           As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

           “Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

           “Why not?”

           “Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

           You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

           “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

           “No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

           Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

           “Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

           “…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

           “Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

           “What is it?” you asked.

           “Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

           Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

           You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

           “I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

           For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

­­­­______

           You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

           Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.        

           When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

           “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

           “I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

           Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

           Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

           You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

           Dear (Y/N),

           Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

           Sincerely,

                       Steve Rogers

           You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

           You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

           After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

           When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

           “Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

           “…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

           He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

           “I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

           “How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

           Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

           “Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

           You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

           “I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

           Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

           You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

           “U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

           “It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

           “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

           Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

           Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

           “It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

           The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

           “So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

           He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

           “That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

           You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

           “Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

           “Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

           “Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

           “Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

           You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

           “A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

           “That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

           Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

           But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

           “I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

           Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

           “Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

           “Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

           “No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

           Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

           “Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

           “Whatya say?”

           You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

           “I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

           “It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

           You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

           Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

           “I’ll do it.”

_______

           Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

           He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

           Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

           He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

           You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

[starsandstormyseas]

Do the Cap PSAs exist in Rebel Columbia? If they do, can you do a one-shot about everyone's reactions- like, Peter and Mia do something stupid and Steve just gives them the Eyebrows and just kinda starts with the PSA voice and they LOSE IT

I didn’t forget about this one! Lmao and I suppose they do, my idea is that Steve had to do some public wellness campaigns or some shit after the Incident to help gain some goodwill for the Avengers after wrecking so much property. Everyone got a little something (except Clint and Nat, probably), and Cap got shitty 90’s PSAs. Its great and he’ll never live it down. 

This probably takes some place during or after Bitter Protocol lol. 

--------------------------------------------

“Rappin’ with Cap”

Sometimes, Steve questioned the strength of his authority. 

This was one of those times.

May had assigned him the role of Lecturer after Mia and Peter were caught out after 9pm, in strict violation of their curfew (which had been in place since December, the last time they snuck out and apparently saved Tony’s life. Tony, of course, didn’t put it that way but that’s how Steve understood it). 

The two sat on the couch opposite him in May’s apartment, appearing to be in various stages of sullenness or embarrassment. Steve wasn’t very good at this parenting thing, he was kind of just figuring it out as he went along. But he happened to be on hand when this happened and perhaps May wanted him to get some worthwhile experience while he could. 

Steve figured he should start out diplomatically. “So we all know why you guys are here right now, yeah? And I just wanted to say, I’m not angry at either of you. Disappointed? Yes, but not angry.”

Neither Mia nor Peter looked him in the eye. May had already drained them of their defense when they first got back and now Steve was left with the remnants of their spirits. They looked like they just wanted this to be over. As sympathetic as Steve was, he couldn’t quite allow that just yet. 

“I know this time, nothing bad happened,” Steve said. “You guys were just out, er, hanging out with your friend MJ. Filming something,” he frowned at the camera equipment still strapped to Peter’s chest. Neither of Mia nor Peter had told Steve or May what exactly they had been up to. “But cemeteries are dangerous places at night, and it’s not safe to be wandering out there alone without adult supervision —”

A snort. Steve glanced at Peter, who was covering his face with his hand. He wiped at his nose and shook his head, pretending it was a cough. “Oh, er, nothing. Sorry, continue please.”

Steve frowned slightly, but continued. “Well, as I was saying, it’s not safe. You don’t know who could be lurking out there. Who might try to hurt some vulnerable kids. And I know you, Mia, you can handle yourself but — why are you smiling?”

Mia pressed her lips together so tightly her cheeks went red. “I’m not smiling.”

A lie. Usually whenever Mia attempted one, it was very bad and so obvious it was hard to be angry about it sometimes. But Steve didn’t understand what was going on. “Is something funny?” 

Steve glanced down at his shirt, to make sure it was clean. Was his hair out of place? Was he making a fool of himself and not realizing it? 

“No, no, nothing’s funny,” Peter squeaked, hiding his mouth again and looking very much like he was about to die of contained laughter. “Nothing at all!”

Mia and Peter were trying very hard not to look at each other. As soon as they did, it was all over. Steve stared, absolutely baffled, as the cousins shared a single glance before bursting out into laughter, practically keeling over on themselves. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise until they had calmed down a little. And by then it was already worse. 

“Just like in the PSAs!” Mia said, and snorted so hard it had Peter laughing, and her laughing again in turn. The kind of laughter that was contagious and, if Steve wasn’t suddenly gripped with abject horror, might have been caught up in it too against his will. 

“Oh no,” Steve muttered. 

“Oh yes!” Mia crowed. 

Peter managed to gain some amount of composure, but it was only to deepen his voice in a grand impression of Captain America, in words Steve hated to recognize. “I’m Captain America, and I’m here to talk about one of the most important weapons in any soldier’s arsenal. Math.”

Mia was right there with him. “As a soldier and as an Avenger, I’ve seen some pretty exciting things. But you know what’s really exciting? READING.”

“There’s nothing patriotic about illegal fireworks,” Peter mimicked with folded arms, followed by his best Stern Captain America™ glare. 

They went back and forth for a solid minute, just cracking each other up. By the time Mia and Peter had demonstrated they knew every single line, Steve was pinching his brow and muttering, “You memorized all of them, didn’t you?”

“How could we not?” Mia protested, throwing her hands out helplessly. “They’re memorable!”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, aggrieved. “You know, those videos were serious —!”

“Oh yeah, we could tell,” Peter snickered, sharing a look with me. “That’s what made them so funny!”

And Steve already knew. Sam had already shown him the crack edits on YouTube. Apparently, the PSAs were something called a ‘meme’ but Steve wasn’t going to dignify the hilarity by allowing these two to know he knew what that was. So he wasn’t entirely surprised. He just wished it didn’t have to rear its ugly head now, when he was very desperately trying to do May a favor. 

And then, Steve couldn’t help himself. He smirked. “Would you believe I did all those for free?”

Mia gasped, scandalized. “They didn’t even pay you to wear that outfit again?”

“Hey, that outfit was nice, actually, it was designed by a friend,” Steve objected, holding up a finger. “I have no excuses for the green screen, though…”

[frederator-studios]

Today is my last day at Frederator. 

It’s a good day. If there’s a cheesier sentiment than “today is the first day of the rest of your life” I’m not sure what it would be. But, I’m a cheesy guy, and it’s how I feel. 

Starting today, I’ve decided to leave Frederator and go back to my roots as an active, excited, indie cartoon producer who’s constantly searching –and finding!– unique talents with original voices. It’s what makes my days joyful and fulfilling. Yes, I know, that’s cheesy.

It’s an amazing, and unique, time for animation of all kinds. The Covid19 era has put a lot of live action on hold, and streaming has made more styles and genres of animation mainstreamed than ever in history. I’ve called “animation’s new golden age” at least twice before during my time, so I guess we’re entering a platinum age! I’m even more thrilled to be in animation now than I have ever been. 

I’m happy to have brought Frederator into the WOW! family where I know it will continue to grow and thrive. I’m thrilled that I’ll be continuing to collaborate with the Frederator/Wow team on Castlevania and Bee and PuppyCat: Lazy in Space and a few new ones; we share the same passion that goes into this great field of animation entertainment. There’s an “official” press release at the bottom of this post that lays everything out.

Something personal to note. Building a venture like Frederator has it’s ups and downs. My great colleagues have ridden through it with great cheer and smarts. But, the most important supporters through it all are my wife and two sons. I’ve pushed them to the limits a number of times, but when I look around, they’re always there, supportive, encouraging, and always with smiles.

And, what’s heartened me everyday are the hundreds –maybe thousands?– of collaborators I’ve been honored to work with at the various Frederator endeavors over the years. I think I expressed it best a couple of years ago with this introduction of our 2018 retrospective book “Frederator Loves You.”

.....

Let me rant for a minute. I think the last twenty years has proved that there’s no other company like Frederator. Really, we’re special. Arrogant? Sure.

Of course, being remarkable is all about you.

"Frederator loves you" has been more than just a slogan around here. It's been a battle cry that expresses exactly why I started the company.

"You." First and foremost it's our audiences, whether they're the kids that watched our stuff on Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, or the still-kids who grew up and watch us on Cartoon Hangover, Get in the Robot or Netflix.

"You." All the folks that work in and around Frederator across the globe, making cartoons and videos and channels, figuring out the best way to show them off to people.

And "you." The world class creators –mostly first timers– we've been lucky enough to have in our corner.

I think it's fair to say that without "you" there wouldn't be an "us." From my perspective we're all one big bunch, loving the same things, everyone playing their own roles. I don't think anyone at Frederator would have it any other way.

Twenty years [sic] seems like both a long time and yet, just the beginning. I can't imagine it ending, it’s just too much fun making the world smile.

Frederator loves you all, Fred Seibert

.....

Press Release

WOW! UNLIMITED MEDIA ANNOUNCES CORPORATE LEADERSHIP REORGANIZATION

CEO Michael Hirsh To Take on Leadership of Frederator

Fred Seibert, Frederator Founder and CEO, Returns to Independent Production

TORONTO and VANCOUVER, British Columbia, Aug. 27, 2020 (GLOBE NEWSWIRE) -- WOW! Unlimited Media, Inc. (“WOW!” or the “Company”) (TSX-V: WOW / OTCQX: WOWMF), a leading animation-focused entertainment company that includes Frederator Networks Inc. (“Frederator”) and Mainframe Studios, today announces a corporate leadership reorganization. 

Fred Seibert has resigned from his position as a Director and the Chief Creative officer of WOW!, as well as CEO of Frederator, effective November 27, 2020. Seibert will continue to work with the Company on current and future projects as an independent producer.

Michael Hirsh, Chief Executive Officer of WOW! will take on the leadership of Frederator, serving as its CEO, and Neil Chakravarti, COO of WOW!, will become COO of Frederator. These changes will take effect immediately.

Fred Seibert, current CEO and Chief Creative Officer, has decided to leave WOW! and the studio he founded to return to independent production. To ensure a successful transition, Seibert will stay involved as an executive producer on current major Frederator projects Castlevania and Bee & PuppyCat and he also intends to partner with the company on other upcoming projects.

Seibert said, “I’m happy to have brought Frederator into the WOW! family where I know it will continue to grow and thrive. I am looking forward to returning to my roots as an independent cartoon producer who’s constantly searching – and finding! – unique talents with original voices. I’ll continue to collaborate with the Frederator/WOW! Team on projects going forward as we both share the same passion that goes into this great field of animation entertainment.”

“As we look to the future, we will continue to provide fans with beloved Frederator franchises, alongside new and exciting content from the over 3,000-strong Channel Frederator Network,” said Hirsh. “We wish Fred the best in his next, independent venture, and look forward to continuing to work with him on projects we know our fans will love as we drive dynamic growth in the business.” 

About WOW!  

WOW! is creating a leading animation-focused entertainment company by producing top-end content and building brands and audiences on engaging media platforms. The Company produces animation in its two established studios: Mainframe Studios in Vancouver and Frederator Studios in Los Angeles. The Company’s media offerings include Channel Frederator Network on YouTube, as well as WOW! branded programming on Crave, Canada’s premier streaming entertainment platform, owned by Bell Media. The common voting shares of the Company and variable voting shares of the Company are listed on the TSX Venture Exchange and the OTCQX Best Market.

Neither the TSX Venture Exchange nor its Regulation Services Provider (as that term is defined in the policies of the TSX Venture Exchange) accepts responsibility for the adequacy or accuracy of this release.

Further information available at: Website: www.wowunlimited.co

About Frederator

Frederator, a WOW! company, is a pioneer in streaming video and is a leading independent producer of animation content. Over the past 20 years, Frederator Studios has produced 19 series and more than 250 short films for and with partners including Netflix, Amazon, Google, Nickelodeon, Nick Jr., Sony Pictures Animation, and Cartoon Network. Frederator Digital has built and manages one of the largest animation networks on YouTube.

Forward Looking Statements

This press release contains statements that constitute “forward-looking information” (collectively, “forward-looking statements”) within the meaning of applicable securities laws. Often, but not always, forward-looking statements can be identified by the use of words such as “plans”, “expects”, “is expected”, “estimates”, “anticipates”, or “believes” or variations (including negative variations) of such words and phrases, or state that certain actions, events or results “may”, “could”, “would”, “might” or “will” be taken, occur or be achieved.

The forward-looking statements herein are made as of the date of this press release only, and the Company does not assume any obligation to update or revise them to reflect new information, estimates or opinions, future events or results or otherwise, except as required by applicable law. Forward-looking statements in this press release include statements about the leadership reorganization at Frederator, Fred Seibert’s future involvement in Frederator projects, future content at Frederator, growth at Frederator and future projects.

Although the Company believes the forward-looking statements in this press release are reasonable, it can give no assurance that the expectations and assumptions in such statements will prove to be correct. The Company cautions investors that any forward-looking statements by the Company are not guarantees of future results, and that actual results may differ materially from those in forward-looking statements as a result of various factors, including, but not limited to, the risks described under the heading “Risks and Uncertainties” in the Company’s MD&A for the three and six month periods ended June 30, 2020. As a result, readers should not place undue reliance on the forward-looking statements contained in this press release.

Contact: For Media: Maryellen Mooney Goodman Media International, Inc. Tel: (212) 576-2700 ext. 7255 Email: mmooney@goodmanmedia.com For Investor Relations: Bill Mitoulas Tel: (416) 479-9547 Email: billm@wowunlimited.co

For Fred Seibert:

Brittany Smith

Email: Brittany_Smith@dkcnews.com

[womansharry]

SHE

Fashion blogger and New York Socialite Juliet Oliver meets rockstar Harry Styles. And what follows is a story that no one could have predicted.

Chapter 1 - Gold Dust Woman

Juliet Oliver stepped out of the black SUV. A man in a black suit approached her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Oliver. You'll walk the carpet in just a minute. Stay here. I'll send you as soon as I can." He turned to another man, and Juliet took a second to look down at her gown. She was wearing a purple Giambattista Valli gown. The floor-length dress was made entirely of tulle. It was growing heavier by the minute. She smiled despite the discomfort, relishing in the fact that she was about to walk the carpet at the Met Gala.

Juliet had grown up obsessing over fashion. She would stay up way past her bedtime and look at the pictures in her mother's copies of Vogue and Elle. She would often sneak into her mother's closet and try on her various dresses from DVF or Dior. When she was in high school, she developed a bad habit of leaving school early to go shopping at Bloomingdale's with her best friends.

Juliet had been born into a prominent Upper West Side family. Her father, Richard Oliver was a hedgefund lawyer. Her mother, Marie Lawrence-Oliver had been a model in the late 70s and early 80s before she met Juliet's father. By the late 80s, Marie had become a mother and decided that she would stay home with her children. First came Christopher. Chris had always been interested in movies. He had gone to NYU's film school for college and moved to LA right after. Next came Caroline. Caroline followed in her father's footsteps and went to law school. She attended Brown as a legacy student and had come back to NYC for a job in the financial district. Juliet was the youngest of the three and had attended college at Columbia.

Somehow over the past few years, she had amassed 1.2 million followers on Instagram. After graduating she decided to turn those followers into an audience and she launched a website. She had been writing full time for her blog for 3 and a half years. She had been featured in Harper's Bazaar, Marie Claire, and Vogue. The latter had led to a friendship with Anna Wintour. She had also traveled to Paris and London working with brands like Stella McCartney and Saint Laurent. Juliet could hardly believe that this was her life, working in fashion and writing about the things that she truly loved.

"Alright, Ms. Oliver are you ready?" She took a deep breath and smiled at the man. She started walking and was met with a large crowd of photographers and reporters.

There was a chorus of shouts, "This way!" "Juliet, over here!" "Look here," "Smile" as she made her way across the pink carpet. She began ascending the iconic Met steps. She stopped for a couple of interviews. As she was about to head inside she heard the shrieks of the teenage girls that were lined up along 5th Avenue. Years ago, that had been her. She looked over at the front entrance and noticed that Alessandro Michele, the creative director at Gucci, had arrived and with him was Harry Styles. Harry wore a sheer black top, black heeled boots, and a single earring. She admired his outfit from afar before turning her attention back to the front doors of the MET.

"Juliet!" She turned to see Lana Condor making her way up the steps. Juliet had met Lana and a few other ladies wearing Giambattista months ago during fittings.

"Lana, it's so good to see you. You look gorgeous!" Juliet pulled her in for a hug.

"Thanks, Juliet, so do you! They knew what they were doing when they put you in purple. It's your color!"

"You're the sweetest. Next time you're in New York we should get dinner." Juliet said and she moved up to the next step.

"Yes, for sure! I'll see you inside." Lana stepped towards one of the red carpet correspondents to give an interview.

Juliet headed towards the front door nearly running into Harry Styles as she did.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly. He looked over at her with his emerald green eyes and dimpled smile.

"S'okay love. Y'look very nice, by the way." She felt warmth spread through her body and she smiled back at him.

"Thanks, so do you."

"'m Harry." He stuck his hand out towards her.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Juliet." His large hand was softer than she had expected.

"Hmm, Juliet. Quite a romantic name." He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Juliet, s'nice to meet ya. Maybe I'll see ya inside, yeah?" He moved closer to the door.

"Yeah." She smiled and followed after him and into the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

___

Sometime later Juliet was running on champagne and adrenaline. Cher was performing a few of her greatest hits. The beginning chords of "If I Could Turn Back Time" sounded through the speakers and Juliet smiled. She was dancing around in her own little world with some of the people around her when she noticed that Harry was watching her from across the room with a smile on his face.

Once the song was over she noticed that Harry had moved. He came up beside her and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Ya coming to the after-party? Think ya should." She nodded.

"I'll be there."

"Save a dance for me, yeah?" She felt her face turn red.

"I can do that." He gave her a longing look and made his way back over to his friends.

___

Alessandro was hosting a Met Gala after-party at Hunter College. Juliet changed into a red pantsuit. The blazer was v-neck and she decided that she wouldn't wear anything underneath. It gave her an edgier look. Once she was inside the school gymnasium it didn't take long for her to find Harry. He had a champagne glass in one hand and was using the other as he carried on about something. The speakers were blaring a song that Juliet didn't know when someone grabbed her arm.

"I didn't know that you'd be here." Juliet turned to see Mary Kate Olsen.

"Oh my god! It's so good to see you." Mary Kate smiled.

"Let's get a drink." the two girls set off in search of the bar. "Are you still writing?"

"Yeah, it's going really well. I'm meeting with a few people next week about starting my own fashion line. I know it's a lot of work, but it's something I've wanted to do forever." Juliet said as they approached the bar.

"I think that's a great idea. It might seem like it's an oversaturated market, but if you bring something to the table that's new and unique you'll do great." The girls both got Vodka Tonics and went back to an open couch.

"I'm really excited to start the process. I've got a long way to go." Juliet said sipping on her drink.

"Well, if you need help or just someone to talk to, please call me." Mary Kate gave her a smile. Despite being so private, Mary Kate Olsen had always gone out of her way to be kind to Juliet. They had met a few years ago at London Fashion Week.

"How's Ashley?"

"She's good. I feel like we're constantly running 100 miles per hour with our brands. She was at the gala earlier but she was ready to go home. Why don't you come by later this week and see us? You could even throw out some of your ideas for your line. We'd be happy to give you our opinions." Mary Kate touched Juliet's arm.

"Yes. I'll text you tomorrow after I look at my calendar. You'd think I'd have it on my phone. I'm still old fashioned that way. I like writing things down in my planner."

"Yeah, I understand. Please do that! See you soon."

Juliet stood up as well and looked out at the dance floor, so many people were scattered around dancing and talking. She told Mary Kate goodbye and made her way to the edge of the dance floor. "Sucker" by the Jonas Brothers was playing. Juliet laughed as she saw Harry singing his heart out.

The song died out and a new one began playing. She knew what it was almost immediately. It was, "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin, or as many people knew it as the love theme from Top Gun. She downed the rest of her vodka tonic and sat the empty glass on the closet table to her. She took a deep breath and approached Harry.

"How about that dance?" He gave her a devilish grin and pulled her in his arms.

"How's ya night been, Juliet?" Harry asked as they swayed back and forth to the 80s pop ballad.

"It's been great. I don't want it to end..." she wished out loud. She admired the man holding her, his features soft in the dim light of the gymnasium.

"Think I'll ever see ya again? Quiet like looking at ya." He asked. Juliet felt her cheeks heat up.

"Maybe, if you're lucky," she said teasingly. If Harry wanted to see her again, of course, she would say yes.

"Can't believe we've never met before."

"I know. I'm glad you were a co-chair this year. I like your style a lot. You dress in a way that makes you feel good, no matter what anyone says about you. I like that about you." She said. His green eyes were sparkling.

"Thank you. 'm blushing, really." They laughed together as the song died down.

"It was so nice to meet you, Harry. I'll see you around." He hesitated, almost like he didn't know how to respond. Finally, the words came out.

"Yeah, you too Jules. See ya around." He held her hand a second longer before letting go and drifting off into the crowd of people.

Juliet found the exit and called Cal, her driver. He pulled up a moment later. She got into the SUV and Cal drove off in the direction of her apartment. The entire drive home she played Harry's words over and over again in her head. "Yeah, you too Jules. See ya around." Normally, she only let her family call her Jules. But, she liked the way it sounded when Harry said it. As Cal pulled up outside her apartment, she silently prayed that tonight wasn't the last time she would see Harry.

_____

Read ch 2 here! 

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Gene Eliza Tierney (November 19, 1920 – November 6, 1991) was an American film and stage actress. Acclaimed as a great beauty, she became established as a leading lady. Tierney was best known for her portrayal of the title character in the film Laura (1944), and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance as Ellen Berent Harland in Leave Her to Heaven (1945).

Tierney's other roles include Martha Strable Van Cleve in Heaven Can Wait (1943), Isabel Bradley Maturin in The Razor's Edge (1946), Lucy Muir in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), Ann Sutton in Whirlpool (1949), Maggie Carleton McNulty in The Mating Season (1951), and Anne Scott in The Left Hand of God (1955).

I Gene Eliza Tierney was born on November 19, 1920 in Brooklyn, New York, the daughter of Howard Sherwood Tierney and Belle Lavinia Taylor. She was named after a beloved uncle, who died young.[4][page needed] She had an elder brother, Howard Sherwood "Butch" Tierney Jr., and a younger sister, Patricia "Pat" Tierney. Their father was a successful insurance broker of Irish descent, their mother a former physical education instructor.[4][page needed]

Tierney was raised in Westport, Connecticut. She attended St. Margaret's School in Waterbury, Connecticut, and the Unquowa School in Fairfield. She published her first poem, entitled "Night", in the school magazine and wrote poetry occasionally throughout her life. Tierney played Jo in a student production of Little Women, based on the novel by Louisa May Alcott.

Tierney spent two years in Europe, attending Brillantmont International School in Lausanne, Switzerland, where she learned to speak fluent French. She returned to the US in 1938 and attended Miss Porter's School in Farmington, Connecticut. On a family trip to the West Coast, she visited Warner Bros. studios, where a cousin worked as a producer of historical short films. Director Anatole Litvak, taken by the 17-year-old's beauty, told Tierney that she should become an actress. Warner Bros. wanted to sign her to a contract, but her parents advised against it because of the relatively low salary; they also wanted her to take her position in society.

Tierney's society debut occurred on September 24, 1938, when she was 17 years old. page needed] Soon bored with society life, she decided to pursue an acting career. Her father said, "If Gene is to be an actress, it should be in the legitimate theatre." Tierney studied acting at a small Greenwich Village acting studio in New York with Yiddish and Broadway actor/director Benno Schneider. She became a protégée of Broadway producer-director George Abbott.

In Tierney's first role on Broadway, she carried a bucket of water across the stage in What a Life! (1938). A Variety magazine critic declared, "Miss Tierney is certainly the most beautiful water carrier I've ever seen!" She also worked as an understudy in The Primrose Path (1938).

The following year, she appeared in the role of Molly O'Day in the Broadway production Mrs. O'Brien Entertains (1939). The New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson wrote, "As an Irish maiden fresh from the old country, Gene Tierney in her first stage performance is very pretty and refreshingly modest." That same year, Tierney appeared as Peggy Carr in Ring Two (1939) to favorable reviews. Theater critic Richard Watts Jr. of the New York Herald Tribune wrote, "I see no reason why Miss Tierney should not have an interesting theatrical career – that is, if cinema does not kidnap her away."

Tierney's father set up a corporation, Belle-Tier, to fund and promote her acting career. Columbia Pictures signed her to a six-month contract in 1939. She met Howard Hughes, who tried unsuccessfully to seduce her. From a well-to-do family herself, she was not impressed by his wealth. Hughes eventually became a lifelong friend.

After a cameraman advised Tierney to lose a little weight, she wrote to Harper's Bazaar magazine for a diet, which she followed for the next 25 years. Tierney was initially offered the lead role in National Velvet, but production was delayed. page needed] When Columbia Pictures failed to find Tierney a project, she returned to Broadway and starred as Patricia Stanley to critical and commercial success in The Male Animal (1940). In The New York Times, Brooks Atkinson wrote, "Tierney blazes with animation in the best performance she has yet given". She was the toast of Broadway before her 20th birthday. The Male Animal was a hit, and Tierney was featured in Life magazine. She was also photographed by Harper's Bazaar, Vogue, and Collier's Weekly.

Two weeks after The Male Animal opened, Darryl F. Zanuck, the head of 20th Century Fox, was rumored to have been in the audience. During the performance, he told an assistant to note Tierney's name. Later that night, Zanuck dropped by the Stork Club, where he saw a young lady on the dance floor. He told his assistant, "Forget the girl from the play. See if you can sign that one." It was Tierney. At first, Zanuck did not think she was the actress he had seen. Tierney was quoted (after the fact), saying: "I always had several different 'looks', a quality that proved useful in my career."

Tierney signed with 20th Century-Fox[4][page needed] and her motion picture debut was in a supporting role as Eleanor Stone in Fritz Lang's western The Return of Frank James (1940), opposite Henry Fonda.

A small role as Barbara Hall followed in Hudson's Bay (1941) with Paul Muni and she co-starred as Ellie Mae Lester in John Ford's comedy Tobacco Road (also 1941), and played the title role in Belle Starr alongside co-star Randolph Scott, Zia in Sundown, and Victoria Charteris (Poppy Smith) in The Shanghai Gesture. She played Eve in Son of Fury: The Story of Benjamin Blake (1942), as well as the dual role of Susan Miller (Linda Worthington) in Rouben Mamoulian's screwball comedy Rings on Her Fingers, and roles as Kay Saunders in Thunder Birds, and Miss Young in China Girl (all 1942).

Receiving top billing in Ernst Lubitsch's comedy Heaven Can Wait (1943), as Martha Strable Van Cleve, signaled an upward turn in Tierney's career. Tierney recalled during the production of Heaven Can Wait:

Lubitsch was a tyrant on the set, the most demanding of directors. After one scene, which took from noon until five to get, I was almost in tears from listening to Lubitsch shout at me. The next day I sought him out, looked him in the eye, and said, 'Mr. Lubitsch, I'm willing to do my best but I just can't go on working on this picture if you're going to keep shouting at me.' 'I'm paid to shout at you', he bellowed. 'Yes', I said, 'and I'm paid to take it – but not enough.' After a tense pause, Lubitsch broke out laughing. From then on we got along famously.

Tierney starred in what became her best-remembered role: the title role in Otto Preminger's film noir Laura (1944), opposite Dana Andrews. After playing Tina Tomasino in A Bell for Adano (1945), she played the jealous, narcissistic femme fatale Ellen Berent Harland in Leave Her to Heaven (1945), adapted from a best selling novel by Ben Ames Williams. Appearing with Cornel Wilde, Tierney won an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress. This was 20th Century-Fox' most successful film of the 1940s. It was cited by director Martin Scorsese as one of his favorite films of all time, and he assessed Tierney as one of the most underrated actresses of the Golden Era.

Tierney then starred as Miranda Wells in Dragonwyck (1946), along with Walter Huston and Vincent Price. It was Joseph L. Mankiewicz' debut film as a director, In the same period, she starred as Isabel Bradley, opposite Tyrone Power, in The Razor's Edge (also 1946), an adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's novel of the same name. Her performance was critically praised.

Tierney played Lucy Muir in Mankiewicz's The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), opposite Rex Harrison. The following year, she co-starred again with Power, this time as Sara Farley in the successful screwball comedy That Wonderful Urge (1948). As the decade came to a close, Tierney reunited with Laura director Preminger to star as Ann Sutton in the classic film noir Whirlpool (1949), co-starring Richard Conte and José Ferrer. She appeared in two other film noirs: Jules Dassin's Night and the City, shot in London, and Otto Preminger's Where the Sidewalk Ends (both 1950), reunited with both Preminger and leading man Dana Andrews, who she appeared with in five movies total.

Tierney was loaned to Paramount Pictures, giving a comic turn as Maggie Carleton in Mitchell Leisen's ensemble farce, The Mating Season (1951), with John Lund, Thelma Ritter, and Miriam Hopkins. She gave a tender performance as Midge Sheridan in the Warner Bros. film, Close to My Heart (1951), with Ray Milland. The film is about a couple trying to adopt a child. Later in her career, she was reunited with Milland in Daughter of the Mind (1969).

After Tierney appeared opposite Rory Calhoun as Teresa in Way of a Gaucho (1952), her contract at 20th Century-Fox expired. That same year, she starred as Dorothy Bradford in Plymouth Adventure, opposite Spencer Tracy at MGM. She and Tracy had a brief affair during this time.[10] Tierney played Marya Lamarkina opposite Clark Gable in Never Let Me Go (1953), filmed in England.

In the course of the 1940s, she reached a pinnacle of fame as a beautiful leading lady, on a par with "fellow sirens Rita Hayworth, Lana Turner and Ava Gardner". She was "called the most beautiful woman in movie history" and many of her movies in the 1940s became classic films.

Tierney remained in Europe to play Kay Barlow in United Artists' Personal Affair (1953). While in Europe, she began a romance with Prince Aly Khan, but their marriage plans met with fierce opposition from his father Aga Khan III. Early in 1953, Tierney returned to the U.S. to co-star in the film noir Black Widow (1954) as Iris Denver, with Ginger Rogers and Van Heflin.

Tierney had reportedly started smoking after a screening of her first movie to lower her voice, because she felt, "I sound like an angry Minnie Mouse." She subsequently became a heavy smoker.

With difficult events in her personal life, Tierney struggled for years with episodes of manic depression. In 1943, she gave birth to a daughter, Daria, who was deaf and mentally disabled, the result of a fan breaking a rubella quarantine and infecting the pregnant Tierney while she volunteered at the Hollywood Canteen. In 1953, she suffered problems with concentration, which affected her film appearances. She dropped out of Mogambo and was replaced by Grace Kelly.[4][page needed] While playing Anne Scott in The Left Hand of God (1955), opposite Humphrey Bogart, Tierney became ill. Bogart's sister Frances (known as Pat) had suffered from mental illness, so he showed Tierney great sympathy, feeding her lines during the production and encouraging her to seek help.

Tierney consulted a psychiatrist and was admitted to Harkness Pavilion in New York. Later, she went to the Institute of Living in Hartford, Connecticut. After some 27 shock treatments, intended to alleviate severe depression, Tierney fled the facility, but was caught and returned. She later became an outspoken opponent of shock treatment therapy, claiming it had destroyed significant portions of her memory.

In late December 1957, Tierney, from her mother's apartment in Manhattan, stepped onto a ledge 14 stories above ground and remained for about 20 minutes in what was considered a suicide attempt. Police were called, and afterwards Tierney's family arranged for her to be admitted to the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas. The following year, after treatment for depression, she was discharged. Afterwards, she worked as a sales girl in a local dress shop with hopes of integrating back into society, but she was recognized by a customer, resulting in sensational newspaper headlines.

Later in 1958, 20th Century-Fox offered Tierney a lead role in Holiday for Lovers (1959), but the stress upon her proved too great, so only days into production, she dropped out of the film and returned to Menninger for a time.

Tierney made a screen comeback in Advise and Consent (1962), co-starring with Franchot Tone and reuniting with director Otto Preminger.[4][page needed] Soon afterwards, she played Albertine Prine in Toys in the Attic (1963), based on the play by Lillian Hellman. This was followed by the international production of Las cuatro noches de la luna llena, (Four Nights of the Full Moon - 1963), in which she starred with Dan Dailey. She received critical praise overall for her performances.

Tierney's career as a solid character actress seemed to be back on track as she played Jane Barton in The Pleasure Seekers (1964), but then she suddenly retired. She returned to star in the television movie Daughter of the Mind (1969) with Don Murray and Ray Milland. Her final performance was in the TV miniseries Scruples (1980).

Tierney married two men: the first was Oleg Cassini, a costume and fashion designer, on June 1, 1941, with whom she eloped. She was 20 years old. Her parents opposed the marriage, as he was from a Russian-Italian family and born in France. She had two daughters, Antoinette Daria Cassini (October 15, 1943 – September 11, 2010) and Christina "Tina" Cassini (November 19, 1948 – March 31, 2015).

In June 1943, while pregnant with Daria, Tierney contracted rubella (German measles), likely from a fan ill with the disease. Antoinette Daria Cassini was born prematurely in Washington, DC, weighing three pounds, two ounces (1.42 kg) and requiring a total blood transfusion. The rubella caused congenital damage: Daria was deaf, partially blind with cataracts, and severely mentally disabled. She was institutionalized for much of her life. This entire incident was inspiration for a plot point in the 1962 Agatha Christie novel The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side.

It is claimed that she had an affair with Mohammad Reza Shah of Iran during the late 1940s.

Tierney's friend Howard Hughes paid for Daria's medical expenses, ensuring the girl received the best care. Tierney never forgot his acts of kindness. Daria Cassini died in 2010, at the age of 66.

Tierney and Cassini separated October 20, 1946, and entered into a property settlement agreement on November 10. Periodicals during this period record Tierney with Charles K. Feldman, including articles related to her "twosoming" with Feldman, her "current best beau". The divorce was to be finalized in March 1948, but they reconciled before then.

During their separation, Tierney met John F. Kennedy, a young World War II veteran, who was visiting the set of Dragonwyck in 1946. They began a romance that she ended the following year after Kennedy told her he could never marry her because of his political ambitions. In 1960, Tierney sent Kennedy a note of congratulations on his victory in the presidential election. During this time, newspapers documented Tierney's other romantic relationships, including Kirk Douglas.

While filming for Personal Affair in Europe, she began a romance with Prince Aly Khan. They became engaged in 1952, while Khan was going through a divorce from Rita Hayworth. Their marriage plans, however, met with fierce opposition from his father, Aga Khan III.

Cassini later bequeathed $500,000 in trust to Daria and $1,000,000 to Christina. Cassini and Tierney remained friends until her death in November 1991.

In 1958, Tierney met Texas oil baron W. Howard Lee, who had been married to actress Hedy Lamarr since 1953. Lee and Lamarr divorced in 1960 after a long battle over alimony, then Lee and Tierney married in Aspen, Colorado, on July 11, 1960. They lived quietly in Houston, Texas, and Delray Beach, Florida until his death in 1981.

Despite her self-imposed exile in Texas, Tierney received work offers from Hollywood, prompting her to a comeback. She appeared in a November 1960 broadcast of General Electric Theater, during which time she discovered that she was pregnant. Shortly after, 20th Century Fox announced Tierney would play the lead role in Return to Peyton Place, but she withdrew from the production after suffering a miscarriage.

Tierney's autobiography, Self-Portrait, in which she candidly discusses her life, career, and mental illness, was published in 1979.

Tierney's second husband, W. Howard Lee, died on February 17, 1981 after a long illness.[24]

In 1986, Tierney was honored alongside actor Gregory Peck with the first Donostia Lifetime Achievement Award at the San Sebastian Film Festival in Spain.

Tierney has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6125 Hollywood Boulevard.

Tierney died of emphysema on November 6, 1991, in Houston, thirteen days before her 71st birthday. She is interred in Glenwood Cemetery in Houston.

Certain documents of Tierney's film-related material, personal papers, letters, etc., are held in the Wesleyan University Cinema Archives, though her papers are closed to the public.

[5questions]

JERALD PODAIR

The UFT Has Made Sausages: an interview with Jerald Podair

In November 2020, the NYC United Federation of Teachers endorsed the Black Lives Matter in Schools campaign. About 90% of the union delegates voted for this. This was a stark contrast to previous years, when the UFT hierarchy plotted to filibuster or derail attempts to have the Delegate Assembly endorse this national campaign for liberation.  And this is, unfortunately, a deeply rooted part of the UFT history, from its recent collaboration in ballooning school segregation, back to its battles in Ocean Hill-Brownsville strikes in 1968 and its cold shoulder to the largest student boycott in 1964.

In the following interview, I discuss the UFT’s history with Jerald Podair, the author of the book THE STRIKE THAT CHANGED NEW YORK, we cover topics from the 1968 UFT strike through present-day conflicts over NYC’s unequal schools, considered the most segregated in the country. The 1968 strike pitted Superintendent Rhody McCoy, the black superintendent of the local Brooklyn school board, against Al Shanker, the powerful president of the UFT (and later the American Federation of Teachers). McCoy insisted on his right to fire or at least reassign teachers who openly resisted his afrocentric, liberatory, and postcolonial pedagogical vision. Shanker refused with great zeal, sending the teachers union into a confrontation with the city lasting several months. The media tried to frame the event as a conflict between blacks (the community) and Jews (the teachers). The UFT ultimately was successful and became a stronger force in its role as co-manager of the NYC schools, but the reaction to the UFT’s principles and tactics during the strike has ranged from glowing adoration to harsh critique. 

While Podair is ultimately pessimistic about the UFT’s capacity for embracing radical action for social change as a primary priority – and one can’t say he doesn’t have 60-plus years of history to back him up – the recent Delegate Assembly vote on BLM in Schools suggests the UFT may be ripe for a change in attitude and direction. Can the UFT break its 60+ years of following the business unionism model of Samuel Gompers? Can it put educator union power to work in a fight that many NYC communities are ready to join against material and racial inequality? These questions and more are discussed below. 

 Jerald Podair, professor, historian, and author of numerous books, including THE STRIKE THAT CHANGED NEW YORK. http://jeraldpodair.com/ 

How did you become interested in and research the Ocean Hill-Brownsville strike? 

JP: The Ocean Hill-Brownsville strike was almost a part of my DNA because I lived through it as a high school student in the fall of 1968. I was in the New York public school system when the strike occurred, and at the time I didn’t pay all that much attention to it. My main concern was getting out of school, not having to go to school. Ocean Hill-Brownsville basically kept New York City public school students out for about 3 months. I wasn't very political then. It struck me maybe 20-25 years later, when I was thinking of a dissertation topic, that it was really not only an important event in New York City education history, it was really an important event in New York history, general New York City history, and especially racial history. So I guess what I felt and heard and read and listened to during the strike sort of stuck in my DNA. or somehow got hardwired into me, because when I started thinking about a dissertation topic, I was a graduate student in history at Princeton, it's really the first thing I thought up, and so I began researching it. 

This was in the 1990s. It was not an easy topic to research, as you might imagine, because emotions were still so raw on each side, and not everybody I wanted to talk to was willing to talk to me. Albert Shanker never talked to me. As I understand it, I gave a presentation at the American historical association convention in the early nineties on Ocean Hill-Brownsville and he went to it. He was the president of the UFT and president of the AFT, at the time. He was in Washington, so he came and apparently he didn't like what I had to say because he had promised to give me an interview. After he heard what I had to say, he didn't want to talk to me. And that’s not the fault of Albert Shanker. He had his position. 

It wasn't the easiest topic to research and I found it much easier to just go through a newspaper run and I had to pretty much read every word of the New York Times, the New York Post and The New York Daily News for about a year to get quotes, to get reactions, to get information. Now newspapers are not always the easiest and most reliable sources, as you know. They are known as the first draft of history for a reason. But what I found is that they were more reliable than some of the people who would talk to me because I felt in many ways I was being spinned, again, by both sides, and I was always reminded as I did research of this of the great Japanese film Rashomon; basically people on both sides of the conflict were telling me things that were not necessarily true but we're basically filtered through their own self-interest so just like a little Rashomon the characters were not necessarily lying out right but they were just shaping the truth to fit their own sensibilities and their own agendas and that's what I found when I interviewed both, so for this dissertation I found relying on newspapers and at least what people were quoted as saying was my most reliable source. I went through the papers of the UFT at NYU and also the city board of education at Columbia.

So to make a long story, the PhD dissertation writing took me about 4 years but I had some road blocks along the way I got my notes stolen then it cost me about a year so I would say it took me 6 years to research and write it.

How did the notes get stolen? 

JP: It's become a family legend and a legend among my colleagues. We were living in Princeton at the time my wife and I and our daughter and we drove up to the Bronx to visit my parents who still live in the Bronx. I don't know if you've ever been a graduate student or know graduate students but they get very obsessive about things.  I took all my notes and I piled in the back of the trunk of the car because I thought I was going to look at them over the weekend, which was unrealistic, and I took basically everything, and the car got stolen and it was pretty horrific to go back to that parking space and not see it there. They found it in the South Bronx completely stripped and everything was gone and the notes were gone as well, so I basically had to start all over. I had to go back to Columbia. I mean it was easier the second time around because I knew where to look but it basically cost me a year and a half, maybe 2 years, of my life. I always heard it said you have to be a little crazy to be a graduate student and write a dissertation and that helped because the same person who would say that would have viewed that lost a dissertation notes as a sign from god and just quit. I didn't. 

Otherwise, why was the book hard to write? Basically just because it was hard to get access to people? Was Shanker the only one that didn't give you access?

JP: There were plenty of people who didn't give me access, or gave me only partial access, or they gave me access and didn't really give me what I needed. So the second time, after all my notes were stolen I decided to sit down and go through the Daily News and all the New York City dailies for every day for 1968 and the beginning of 1969, as well as the Times, who's the most accessible, to see what they said. I also feel that my own knowledge of Ocean Hill-Brownsville was so deep, right down to the ground level, and I certainly could tell whether somebody was stating the truth, so access was also complicated by the nature of the dispute. Usually there are heroes and villains in most historical stories – not in this one, because they were you know it was almost like everyone was right and everyone was wrong and I think it's very difficult for historians even today to approach Ocean Hill-Brownsville because it's so paradoxical and doesn't really fit into any sort of a coherent narrative like that all whites are racist or these teachers were racist; it doesn't fit into the narrative that they you know that all blacks were were unrealistic and anarchistic and violent. It fits into some of those categories but it doesn't fit into all of them and so it's not the easiest story to tell and I think what I had to do is sort of leave my own baggage at the door. We are all people, we have backgrounds: we have ethnic backgrounds, religious backgrounds, racial backgrounds. So I tried to leave all of that at the door and try to get into the heads of all of the participants in this, to get into Al Shanker’s, Superintendent McCoy’s, Mayor John Lindsay's heads, and try to do that in a reasonably just passionate way. Hopefully I did a fair job. I think that's a good thing because I think if I surprised and maybe even just made both blacks and whites can I get that meant I was doing a good job and trying at least to be if you want to do a fair job.

Can you explain just a little more why Shanker didn’t want to talk to you? Talk a little bit about why people thought you were black besides just the cover?

JP: Shanker was looking for an exoneration basically and endorsements of pretty much everything he and the union had done during the strike; in other words, journalists who would say this is not about race or the strike is not about race, it is only about due process for teachers who are unfairly fired. To deny that they were racial issues is completely unrealistic. You have to confront those issues in order to do a good job with it historically, so I think what Shanker was looking for and of course he's not an academic historian. I know that many of my fellow historians would agree to disagree with me on that but I think you have to try to hold yourself outside of it, leave your baggage at the door, and try to be fair to both; historians have to criticize, I mean that's our job, but you also have to have some sense of sympathy for a person who is in a position that you are not, in knowing much less than you know 20 or 30 or even 100 years down the line, so you have to both be critical but sympathetic. I understand he would want me to completely exonerate the UFT, but I couldn't do that and I think that's sort of what bothered him. He was emotionally invested in ocean hill Brownsville as much as anything in his entire career. That probably was the most emotionally draining situation that he had been in as the union leader. I can't think of anything else that came close and he was so emotionally invested in it even 25 years later that wounds were still raw. To a lesser extent I got that from a lot of people that I tried to talk to about it: just too emotionally involved.

How do you see the UFT development since then?

JP: The UFT established itself as co-manager of the New York City public school system through the strike. Most of the strikes right now are about money but Ocean Hill Brownsville though was not about money it was about control. It was in 1968 that this strike established the UFT as a co-manager of the public school system which it was not before 1968. Before Shanker and the union leaders’ goal was to get money, but control in many ways was was more important than money; in other words, if Shanker had allowed Lindsay to buy him with money during this trial, if he allowed for everyone in the system to get a check but go back to work, Shanker would have turned that down, because he understood that that would have been a short term victory but the long term goal would have been lost: control.

The same caucus controls the union, the UNITY Caucus, since Shanker was in power.  

JP: Really, wow. Didn’t realize that. So they’ve been around over 50 years? 

Basically. And they filled a power vacuum left by government purges of “reds” and other socialist-leaning unionists. UNITY Caucus themselves were staunchly anti-communist when they were founded. The previous union, the Teacher’s Union (TU), was actually filled with many socialists and communists and the UFT, led by the UNITY Caucus, filled that void.

JP: You're absolutely right. It’s really crucial to understanding the history of the UFT. They're really tough anti-communists and they were one of several competing associations trying to get collective bargaining power for teachers. 

What would it be like if  the union had been less opposed to social justice and done less damage to community ties in the 60s in some of those neighborhoods? Is it possible for them to both win protections for the workers and also further social justice in terms of integrating schools and that type of thing and promoting black empowerment. 

JP: My book shows how complicated that was for the UFT.  First, Shanker and most of the UFT higher ups would say “we are for social justice” and what they would say is “you know we supported Martin Luther King and all of his campaigns. Martin Luther king is a personal friend.” He did address the U.F.T. On many occasions, he supported them when they were establishing their own union, and they supported him at the March on Washington and at Freedom Summer, so they thought they had the social justice bona fide. What what Shanker and other union higher ups would probably say in 1968 is “you don't know what it was like to be a teacher in the New York City public schools in the forties and fifties, but we do and what we know is that teachers had no control, no power, no dignity.” So the UFT was founded to change that – did change that. As for social justice, at Ocean Hill-Brownsville they were asked to make a choice between the 2 and the UFT leaders ended up choosing the power of the union and the power of the teacher over ideals of more radical militants interested in social justice. In other words, they were for social justice but not at their own expense. 

Albert Shanker, founder and president of the United Federation of Teachers 1964 to 1985 and president of the American Federation of Teachers (AFT) from 1974 to 1997.

Wildcat teacher strikes in recent years in West Virginia, Oklahoma, and Oakland were fighting for higher wages, benefits, protections, and other working conditions. The LA strike and then the Chicago one in 2019 they were more fighting for expanding funding for the schools and increasing counselors and that type of stuff. Do you think that had Shanker had the union mobilized at that time that they would have fought for those issues? Because public schools in NYC were basically gutted in the 70s and 80s. 

JP:  Back when Samuel Gompers was the president of the AFL testifying before a congressional committee in the early 1900s and somebody said, “You know Mister Gompers, what does labor want?” and he just says, “More.” That's it. “More.” And that's what Shanker wanted. He wanted more. He wanted more counselors, he wanted more money to be spent on schools. He wanted it for two reasons: he wanted it because I think he was honestly committed to some form of social justice but also he wanted more jobs for his teachers and more power for the union. He did want all those things but what he didn't want to do was cede control over education to a community group or community groups that he felt threatened his teachers and threatened their jobs. All the money in the world,  he was very happy to have. The New York City government spent lots of money on teachers, or social justice, to fund counselors, special ed,  everything. He wasn't into allowing the community school board to fire one of his teachers. That he would not do, and that's what caused the Ocean Hill-Brownsville strike. So you know in many ways as we look at it retrospectively: it didn't have to happen, and that means that if both sides had compromised, it probably would not have happened. But we can't go back. From the standpoint of community people and parents in the Ocean Hill-Brownsville community, they see that their children are not getting good education and even more specifically not getting the kind of education the kids in the white middle class areas of New York City are getting, who are getting the better teachers, better facilities.  There’s something colloquially called combat pay in the 1960s, where teachers in poor neighborhoods get paid more money and also get a chance to transfer out after like a certain number of years.

There’s something in the most recent UFT contract where if you go to teach at struggling schools in the Bronx or Brooklyn you get higher pay.

JP: In the 1960s there was some sort of a provision where if you put a certain number of years and in those schools then you could leave and what happened in the sixties is that they were trying younger teachers, the beginning teachers (not veteran teachers) to the schools in communities like Ocean Hill-Brownsville, who could see that the education their kids were getting was not the same kind of education that that white middle class kids were getting and they were angry about that and I think justifiably angry about that, and of course Al Shanker would say, “I'm angry about that too and I want to do something about that and the way I want to do something because it is I want the school board to hire more teachers, more counselors, more administrators” and the community said, “well that's that's not really what we had in mind. We want control.” And that’s not what Shanker had in mind and he wouldn’t stand for that. 

Now a big fight in New York City schools is over the screening process. Are you aware of this?

JP: I'm actually not really.

So kids take screening tests. The original schools like Bronx Science and Stuyvesant had to take tests to get in, but starting with Guiliani, then it was expanded during Bloomberg. Students take these tests at the end of middle school and there's some schools – like the school where I teach – that are unscreened but there's some schools that are screened, where you have to have a certain test score to get in and those schools are predominantly white and Asian and then you have schools that are unscreened that are predominantly black and brown students, so you really have a segregated school system, arguably the most segregated in the country.

JP: Well I was going to say that at least in the sixties you had the zoned school and Bronx Science, Stuyvesant, only a certain number of students.

So I guess my question, returning to social justice,  but through the lens of focusing on teachers' working conditions, and Weingarten and Mulgrew were Shanker’s successors, so I'm just kind of wondering how that fits into this? 

JP: They really had the same agenda as Shanker. In other words, they're all tough union bosses who put the interests of their membership above all. The conceit for the UFT all through the years is that the interests of their members coincide with the interests of social justice and you don't have to make the choice between one or the other, but of course that's not always the case as we saw in Ocean Hill-Brownsville. When push comes to shove they're going to protect members; if they have a chance to get more money and more hiring but taxes go up and taxes go up for everybody including poor people they're going to do it because that's what comes first. The social justice component is important but when it collides with the interests of the union members, they come first and. I think most union leaders, even the public sector union leaders who say they're for social justice, they're going to make that calculation. 

Do you think we still see some of the same forces at work in the contemporary struggles over education?

JP: From what you've just told me, in New York you have a school system that is more segregated than it may have been even in the 1960s and it's pretty segregated in the 1960s and that was the basis of community control, the philosophical basis of it. African American parents in the mid 1960s basically gave up on the integration struggle because white parents had certainly given up on the integration struggle, and what black parents said is, “Well it looks like our schools are going to be segregated almost permanently and if that's the case, we might as well control it.” They're really being segregated by class, it seems to me, so that is that is going to be the issue going forward now. What is the UFT going to do with that? Well they may want to do something about it but I think again they are beholden to their members and their members may not have that will. Everyone in America says we want to be equal. But when you get into real life situations you sometimes wonder how many Americans really want to be equal, and take it to the UFT I would imagine that the majority of members view themselves as liberals or even on the left, and they vote for Democratic candidates, but when push comes to shove do they want to teach in an unscreened school or a screened school? Well a lot of them are going to make the choice to go to the screened school and they may give you all sorts of justifications that nothing to do with race, but it does come down at least to some extent to race and it also comes down to maybe something inside of them that does not want to be equal, that's wants to be elite or special, and maybe that's part of human nature but I don’t think the UFT itself is going to contribute to breaking down the system because I think in many ways the membership has an interest in perpetuating the system as it is.

You're a labor historian. Can you think of an example of a union or labor movement that was both focused on working conditions for the workers in the union but then also focused as a primary concern on the community or in the society? 

JP: The Wobblies was a union that focused not only on working conditions for their members but also wanted to change the entire economic and social structure of the United States.

Poster for the Industrial Workers of the World, or Wobblies, a trade union across industries that has fought for work protections and power as part of a larger campaign for social revolution. https://iww.org/assets/One-Big-Union.pdf 

Similar to the Teachers Union (TU), the socialist and communist -oriented union that came before the UFT and was destroyed by the red scares in the 1940s and 50s. 

JP: Yes, and former members of that formed a caucus that was against Shanker’s UNITY caucus in the UFT. They are trying to do that massive social change and that caucus within the UFT opposes the strike from the very beginning and they're saying we have to align ourselves with the communities in which we teach so that we can change them for the better but in a sense they are making choices too. They’re unselfish in the sense that they would say well we're willing to forgo raises to help the community, we're willing to give the community control, in order to get equity and social justice in these neighborhoods. But I would argue that most teachers were not like that; they're much more self interested, much less willing to sacrifice themselves. I think what distinguishes these teachers is they were truly selfless. Because the right has many problems of its own, which we know, but one of the major problems on the left is hypocrisy and the idea that they want other people to do what they themselves will not. You talk the talk, but you don't walk the walk. Well these anti-strike teachers in 1968 in the UFT, they walked the walk. They were willing to make personal sacrifices, not have somebody else do it.  Shanker opposed them and tried to destroy the caucus, but I think on some level he had to respect them. 

Yeah the caucus I am in, the Movement of Rank and File Educators, is sort of the descendent of that caucus. 

JP: The only UFT leader who spoke out at the time was John O’Neil. Also, George Altomare, one of the only living and remaining members of the UFT hierarchy, and I talked to him a couple of years ago and he's the only really high ranking UFT who really tries to settle this and make a compromise and he got estranged from Shanker and the leadership over that. And Shanker basically just kept saying, “Fuck you, we want these teachers back in the classroom now” to the city and the media. And possibly the person who was floating a compromise of reassigning the teachers to other duties was George Altomare. He's the last one left from Ocean Hill-Brownsville who's actually alive as far as I know. He was sort of half in and half out and I think he was trying to be sort of a go between the community and the union hierarchy. Shanker was very absolutist over this and I think they had a falling out over that.

I also found it interesting that you said that your book doesn't really fit comfortably in like a right wing or left wing historical narrative. I took it to show that the UFT failed to work with communities for funding and equality and instead had been focused on working conditions only. What would have happened if the UFT had worked more with communities on more systemic changes that could have been more mutually beneficial? 

JP: You could make that argument. But based on my research,  I think most city school teachers were and maybe are politically with the cops, the firemen, the sanitation workers. They're just interested in “more”. They're not politically active and what they're worried about are their salaries and their jobs. So when you have a union that is mostly composed of people like that, there's a limit to how far you're going to be able to go in terms of social justice. Again the UFT always said, “We're for integration.” Shanker said all the way through: “We are pro-integration”, but when Bayard Rustin (who I actually wrote a biography of) organized a student boycott and the UFT at least nominally supported that but they were not willing to go to bat for their members who boycotted that day. They said, “Take a sick day” or something like that,  and didn't necessarily confront the board of education directly over this. The organizers of the boycott were disappointed in the UFT hierarchy's reaction to it. They didn’t oppose it but they didn’t use work stoppage. The UFT at that time was in favor of school integration. It's not like they were ever, you know, against it.  But again, there's you know then idea skin in the game. And resources. I think the UFT was worried about that and the reason they're worried is - it's related to this idea of social justice clashing with the goals of union power -- this is 1964: they're not that powerful a union and they may not want to piss off the board of education with whom they're trying to share power. They're not necessarily a struggling union but they’re young, only like 4 years old, and they may not have wanted to throw in fully. Sometimes you have to to do what you have to do. When I wrote my biography of Rustin, I was struck by an incident in the late 1950s, where Rustin is a close adviser to Martin Luther King, and Rustin helped found the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and probably was going to be the managing director of the SCLC. What happens is Rustin, who is gay, gets caught in rumors of this and they reach Martin Luther King, who cut off Rustin and they reunited for the March on Washington in about 3 years. He basically cut Rustin off, and they don't have all that much contact. I think that King's thinking here is, “I have enough problems with what I'm doing without also having a gay man as the director of the SCLC I'm already being called a communist. I'm already being called an anarchist, a revolutionary. King made a strategic decision and cut this guy off, and that's how it works sometimes. In many ways, the UFT was generally thinking in 1964: “We've got enough problems with the Board of Education, establishing ourselves with the union, do we really, really want to go all in on this boycott and support every teacher? That's probably going to hurt us down the road when it comes to bargaining with them.” There’s that saying that watching legislation get passed is like watching sausages get made. Well, King was making sausages, and so was the UFT. 

[mikewytrykus]

Carl Reiner: Write What You Know

When I was a student at Columbia College Chicago, I had a Studies in Television class about The Dick Van Dyke Show. What follows is the essay I wrote for my final paper about its creator, the recently passed comedy legend Carl Reiner. It’s about 1,700 words. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it.

I have been a fan of the work of Carl Reiner for a long time – longer than I had, until recently, realized. I had never noticed before that he was the director of such movies as Oh God!, as well as the early films of Steve Martin (not all of which I have seen, but I have enjoyed those that I did see). And even before I knew who Carl Reiner was, I was a fan of the work of his son Rob Reiner. I watched All in the Family long before I had ever seen an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show. And The Princess Bride, a classic of the fantasy-adventure genre, remains one of my all-time favorite films. Later on, when I began watching The Dick Van Dyke Show, I did not immediately realize that the actor playing Alan Brady was in fact the creative genius behind the entire series. I did not notice that this one man scripted the bulk of the episodes, including many of its best. I had not yet come to fully appreciate the talent and brilliance of Carl Reiner. That is something I have only achieved through this course. I have a new respect and admiration for the man, truly one of the great comedians of our time. The series he created has been a favorite of mine since I discovered it through reruns on Nick-at-Nite and will remain one of my favorites for as long as I live. I will examine Carl Reiner’s various roles throughout the production of The Dick Van Dyke Show and show that this actor turned writer-producer was truly a force to be reckoned with in the field of comedy.

When I began watching The Dick Van Dyke Show, I slowly became more familiar with the work of the cast and crew of the series. Once I had learned who Carl Reiner was – the creator of the series as well as its chief writer and producer – I discovered his early work on Your Show of Shows. I knew, for the most part, who Sid Caesar was. I was probably most familiar with him from the classic comedy film It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World – which also featured Reiner in a small role as an airport control tower operator. I knew of Imogene Coca and Howie Morris – the latter more from his cartoon voice over work. I had never seen the show, but I knew it was a landmark television series, essentially the Saturday Night Live of its day. I’ve since learned that it was Reiner’s experiences on this series and with the people that have worked on it that formed the basis for The Dick Van Dyke Show. It was through Your Show of Shows that Reiner began a long lasting friendship and professional partnership with the great Mel Brooks, who I should not have been surprised, was the inspiration for the human joke machine that is Buddy Sorrel. Reiner was primarily a performer on the show but eventually became an uncredited contributor in the writers’ room. However, his alter ego on The Dick Van Dyke Show would be the series’ head writer, an embellishment that I’m sure delighted Reiner to no end. 

It is the creation of this series and Reiner’s alter ego Robert Petrie that most impresses me about the man. Trying to break into the arena of television sitcoms, unable to find a vehicle fitting of his talents, Carl Reiner took it upon himself to create his own series – partially at the urging of his wife Estelle. Reiner believed in the old adage “write what you know” and thought about what experiences he could draw upon that others might not. It occurred to him to base his series on his life and career as a performer and writer on Sid Caesar’s television series. It also occurred to him to not only draw upon his professional life, but his personal one as well, and show the two worlds his main character would inhabit: the world of his job as a television writer and his world at home as a husband and father. Reiner then proceeded with the unprecedented endeavor of writing thirteen complete episodes for this series in a single summer. It is this feat of dedication and productivity that most inspires and encourages me. It shows what a creative individual can accomplish when he or she sets his mind on a task, a goal, and commits to it. It remains a grand accomplishment in spite of Reiner’s initial setbacks in getting the series off the ground. Reiner’s series, dubbed Head of the Family, would make it to the pilot stage and, for at least a time, no further. It’s rather ironic that one of the biggest problems with this incarnation of the series is the performance of Reiner himself. One would think that a man would be most qualified to play himself, but apparently this was not true in Reiner’s case. 

We can thank the efforts of executive producer Sheldon Leonard for salvaging Reiner’s fledgling series and setting him onto his true path, as the show’s writer and producer. It is was here that Carl Reiner truly shined. The shear workload that Carl Reiner endured throughout the first two seasons of The Dick Van Dyke Show is striking, one might even say Herculean. As producer, Reiner’s responsibilities included the supervision of casting, staging, scoring and editing of each season’s thirty some episodes, in addition to his duties as writer and story editor. Nearly two-thirds of the episodes aired in the first two seasons were written by Carl Reiner, and there was almost no episode that went completely untouched by his creative hands; many of these episodes were polished or rewritten by him as well. How Reiner was able to endure this staggering workload is nothing short of amazing, almost miraculous. However, it was not something the overworked creator could endure forever. Fortunately for Reiner, and for fans of the show everywhere, help arrived in the third season in the form of screenwriters Bill Persky and Sam Denoff. It is because of these unlikely saviors lessening his burden of responsibility that we were able to enjoy Reiner’s efforts in front of the camera as well as behind during the series’ final two seasons. It is here that Reiner was able to return to his first desire – performing – as the vain, egomaniacal, overbearing television star Alan Brady.

If Rob Petrie was the alter ego of Reiner himself, then Alan Brady represented Sid Caesar, as well as many other vaudevillian stars of early television. When one considers what kind of a man and a boss that Reiner was – he only lost his temper on set once and was a genuinely gracious person to work for – it’s a testament to his acting abilities that he delivered such a believable and hilarious performance. Alan was loud, domineering, arrogant, self-centered, often cruel, but always funny. He was the living embodiment of every big shot television star that was completely full of himself, and added a welcome dynamic to the show. As if beleaguered producer Mel Cooley hadn’t suffered enough thanks to Buddy’s constant insults, he now had his belligerent brother-in-law to contend with. But Mel was not the only target of Alan’s pompous anger. I doubt anyone on the cast avoided being walked all over by Alan, and I would say Rob suffered more than anyone. Everyone was terrified of Alan Brady, and with good reason. He held the collective destiny of our favorite characters in his hand. The threat of being fired loomed constantly overhead and led to some great comedic moments, even when the threat was idle or completely non-existent. Whether it was Rob forced to ghost doctor the lackluster play for Alan’s Broadway debut or the whole staff offering their writing services to a snail, the prospect of unemployment was never funnier. Not even friends and family were safe as Laura, Millie and Jerry were all caught in the wake of hurricane Alan. 

Writer, producer, performer, Carl Reiner was at least a triple threat. Like nearly everyone in the cast of The Dick Van Dyke Show, Reiner was as multitalented and versatile as they come. Always a class act, forever striving for excellence and devoted to bringing to life “one man’s reality”, Reiner worked fervently for over five years to make the series he had created one of the best television shows ever to grace the airwaves. It is for this reason that he and Dick Van Dyke chose to end the show after its fifth season. Like any good showman, Reiner wanted to go out on a high note and leave the crowd wanting more. It may have been the end of his sitcom, but it was hardly the end of his career. 

Carl Reiner would continue to be a driving force in comedy and moved on to become a writer and director of feature films, including the movie based on the novel Enter Laughing that he wrote in the late 1950s that was a precursor to his work on The Dick Van Dyke Show. He kept working in television as well and even reteamed with his former star in the 1970s for The New Dick Van Dyke Show. It was, however, not as long lived or anywhere near as successful as their previous endeavor. Reiner would also continue to work as an actor and, in fact, continues to work to this very day in both television and movies. His role as Saul Bloom in the Ocean’s 11 films was one of the highlights of that series.  He has even reprised his most famous role as Alan Brady on sitcoms like Mad About You, a Dick Van Dyke Show reunion special and even an animated program titled – what else – The Alan Brady Show. 

Carl Reiner has crafted a legacy that I believe will withstand the test of time, and he will be remembered as one of the giants of comedy, a true creative genius. He has certainly inspired me to continue working hard on my own creative endeavors and to commit myself to the things that I am passionate about. If I could achieve even a fraction of his success, I would be a very fortunate man indeed.

[steves-legs]

My Brother’s Best Friend (Chris Evans x Reader)

Masterlist | Requests

Summary: Back home in Boston after your final year at Columbia University, you expect an easygoing and relaxed summer. But those plans go right out the window when your childhood crush, Chris, comes back home after filming a big movie, you see it as a chance to maybe have the summer fling you’d always hoped for. But the fact that he’s your older brother’s best friend may complicate that just a bit.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, fluff!!!, & some angst bc im feeling angsty

...

You tap your index finger against the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing off your phone. You can’t help but feel a sense of contentment as you drive down the street you grew up on. Your music cuts out just before the chorus and your ringer goes off over your car’s speakers. You jump at the sound, letting out a soft gasp before you move to turn down the obnoxiously loud ringtone. You glance over at the screen for a moment. ‘Danny’. You tap the “Answer” button and rest your hands back on the steering wheel.

“What’s up?” “Hey, Y/N. You almost here?” your brother calls from his end. “Just pulling up. Why?” you ask as you turn into your parents’ driveway. There are a suspicious number of cars parked on the road in front of your parents’ house. “Oh, thank God. Mom's been buggin’ me about whether you were close or not. Dinner’s soon,” Danny says. You can hear your mother’s annoyed gasp from the other line. “Love you, mom,” he calls, hushing his voice to a whisper. “She’s gonna kill me.” “You’re damn right she is.” You slow to a halt right behind... Mr. Evans’ car. What the fuck? “You guys havin’ a party or something? A lot of, uh, cars on the street, Danny,” you ask, somewhat annoyed. You really just wanted to bring your bags in, say hi to everyone, eat dinner, and go the fuck to sleep immediately. You groan, shutting your car off and pulling your keys out of the ignition. You unplug and cradle your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you pack your things into your purse. You’ll get your other bags later. “Fuuuuuuck, the cars,” he groans. His voice hushes down into a whisper as he continues, “Yes. It was supposed to be a surprise.” You can hear him smack a hand over his forehead.

You can hear the sounds of laughter and chit-chat, as well as music from the backyard as you climb out of the car. You shut the door with a sharp snap and as if on cue, the voices and music die down almost immediately. “I’ll do my best to act surprised, don’t worry,” you snicker, not bothering to wait for a response before you hang up and make your way up to the front door. Of course, only the outer glass door is shut. The red front door is wide open, so you let yourself right in. You play the role of the unknowing surprise party victim and call out to your family members. “Mom? Dad? Danny? Red?” You even throw your dog’s name into the mix for maximum effect. “Y/N?” a voice that, though familiar, you know definitely doesn’t belong to any of your family members calls. You tilt your head to the left slightly, dropping your purse on the table in the front hall, and make your way towards the source. You head right through the doorway leading into the kitchen and see none other than Chris standing there, a beer in his hand. You can feel your heart rate increase almost immediately. That flimsy red shirt’s doing its absolute best to hold itself together under the strain of his muscles. The collar is frayed slightly, probably from being washed over and over. The little nicks in the fabric allow the thin chain round his neck to show. Did he somehow get even more ripped since the last time you’d seen him? He has the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He gives you an excited smile when he has visual confirmation that it is, in fact, you.

“Oh my God, Y/N! Hey!” he exclaims, setting his drink down and moving around the island counter to give you a hug. You take a few steps forward as well, wrapping your arms around his neck as his slide around your waist. “It’s been too long,” you hum, beginning to pull away from the hug. Chris lets his hands linger on your hips for a few seconds before he takes a step back to grab his beer. “I know, I haven’t seen you since, what, two Christmases ago? How have you been, miss college graduate?” he asks, beaming with pride. “Really great. I’m glad to be home for a bit,” you reply.

Chris nods along. “It is nice being home,” he agrees thoughtfully, taking a sip of his beer. “So what’s the plan after your time off? You gonna be producing my next big movie?” He smirks at you, a brow cocked. “We’ll see,” you sigh. “I actually scored an internship at some obscure film company in the city.” “Are you serious? That’s awesome,” he comments excitedly. “It’s alright, nothing too amazing yet but we’ll get there,” you sigh. Chris shrugs, taking another swig of his beer. “We all start somewhere. Who knows? Soon, maybe you’ll be head of Columbia Pictures or something.” “You flatter me, Christopher,” you say, letting out a soft laugh as you make your way past Chris and over to the fridge for your own ice-cold beer. You crack it open with the bottle opener on the counter. “But I think you think too much of me.” Chris is already turned to face you, his elbow propped against the marble countertop. “It’s not flattery, it’s the truth,” he replies sweetly. “You were always writing those insanely good scripts for your school plays... Writing scenes just for Scott and me to perform, for no reason other than so you could feel for the fluidity of the story. You’re talented, Y/N, whether you think so or not.” You raise your brows at Chris, a delicate smile crossing your lips. “Thank you,” you say softly. He only nods. “Don’t thank me, I’m just giving you a reality check, Y/N,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but before you can open your mouth to speak, the sound of the sliding door being thrown open distracts you.

You glance over as your brother storms right in, without closing the door behind him, and he stops dead in his tracks, turning his head to glare directly at you. “Y/N, serious question for you: do you know how old half of the people here are? Because they’ve been crouched real low behind the bushes for, like, quite a bit, just waitin’ to surprise you!” Danny exclaims, glaring down at you. He turns to fire at Chris, who can’t help but let out a short snort at your brother’s over-the-top attitude. “And you! You’re nothing but a little enabler! Get your ass outside!” Danny hikes his thumb towards the back door and Chris, a massively goofy grin plastered on his face, suppresses a laugh as he waves you off and heads towards the door. “Sorry...” You can’t help the lingering grin on your face, though you truly are a tad sorry. “Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to our arthritic grandfather,” he bites back, squinting at you as he ushers you around the island and out through the sliding door right after Chris. He keeps walking through the crowd of people and back over by where Dodger had chosen to lounge, in the shade under the oak tree with the swing tied to it.

A mess of family members, family friends, and your own hometown friends all leap out from behind the bushes, trees, and fence and scream collectively, “SURPRISE!” with a few stray “WELCOME HOME”‘s. You don’t even have to feign your look of surprise; you’re honestly shocked this many people missed you enough to come to your homecoming party. You let out a scream, laughing into your hands as you recover from your glee. “Oh my God!” you cry out. You glance back at your brother, who has an eyebrow cocked at you. You throw your arms around him happily, turning to wave to everyone as they shout hello’s and ‘we missed you’s. Your parents enter your line of vision with arms open for a hug and, of course, you hug them back. You snuggle between your mother and father in a sea of ‘I missed you’s and ‘I’m so glad you’re home’s. You finally pull away from them and, a soft grin on your face, begin to speak. “God, okay, I will talk to you guys later. I gotta talk to some of the guests,” you say softly. “Thank you... for doing this. It’s nice.” “Of course, of course. Go be a good host,” your mother teases pushing you out towards the party. Everyone had already gone back to their own personal conversations. Well, all except your childhood best friend, Talia. She’s standing there, audibly squealing and therefore effectively alerting you of her presence mere moments before her arms shoot around your shoulders. She’s got you trapped in one of her world-famous hugs. “Y/N!” she exclaims happily. You giggle, returning the gesture. “I missed you so much, Talia,” you exclaim. “I have a lot of juicy college-grade party shit to talk to you about.” “Shit, I... Shit... Can’t wait to....” she trails off. You cock an eyebrow at her, obviously perplexed by her out-of-character behavior. Talia has her eyes darting past you, though. She can’t stop glancing over your shoulder. “Did... did something happen with you and Chris recently?” she asks suspiciously. You eye your best friend with an equal amount of skepticism. “Uh, nothing I’m not aware of. Why?” “On your six... But don’t look too quickly. Make it look nonchalant!” she orders, rather loudly. You roll your eyes, peeking over your shoulder to see Chris eyeing you. His eyes are fixated on you in a way you’d never seen from him before- especially not directed at you. He gives you a soft, flirtatious smirk and, like the cherry on fucking top, winks. You give him a small smile before whirling your head back around to glare at Talia, brows furrowed. “What about him?” you ask. Talia slaps a hand over her forehead. “He’s been watching you this whole time, Danny had to come in to collect you because you were so enthralled in whatever conversation you two were having, he more-than-triple-checked the time of this party just to be sure he’d be here when you got here. He just fucking winked at you, Y/N, and he--” She’s counting each reason on her fingers as she goes. You hold a hand up, cutting her off before she can continue. “Talia, I know Chris more than anyone. He’s one of my best friends and I promise that he’s just a big flirt. He likes to flirt.” “I’m just saying, you two have always had such amazing chemistry that I’d be surprised if I didn’t get a Save the Date for your wedding in the next two years,” she snickers, taking a sip of whatever concoction she’d stirred up in her solo cup. “I still have that sketchbook where we drew up our own personal wedding plans. I could dust it off and hand it to Chris; he’d get the hint.”

You open your mouth to speak, but immediately bite your tongue as your brother’s arm slings around your shoulder. He leans against you, forcing you to lean a bit more to the right to keep straight. “We gossipin’?” he teases. Your roll your eyes, pushing his arm off of you. “Mind your business, Daniel,” Talia interjects. Danny feigns a look of pain, a hand to his chest.  “But I’m sooo nosey... Please share?” You give Talia a pleading look and she takes the reigns, understanding fully. “She’s just pissed that her parents invited the Robinsons,” she snickers. You have to hand it to her, it’s believable.

Back in elementary school, you unashamedly beat up the eldest Robinson boy when he wouldn’t stop teasing you about your braces (yes, you had braces). He deserved it, yes, but you had broken the poor guy’s nose.

You nod along with Talia’s story, eyes darting over towards Chris once again. Danny eyes you suspiciously, fully aware of where your eyes are, but doesn’t comment on it. “Okaaaaaay,” he murmurs. “Well, I’m sure Eli Robinson isn’t planning on bullying you anymore, so buck up and talk to the rest of our guests!” “You never know. He might notice some teensy, tiny flaw, somehow, and start throwing hands,” Talia snickers. Danny rolls his eyes. He lets his arm drop from around your shoulders and calls Chris over. You glance over your shoulder as he gets up from the blue lawn chair slowly and starts heading over. Dodger pads up behind his master as he nears you. You whip your head back around to give Talia a pleading look, but she’s got her expectant eyes on Chris as he nears. ”Yes! Yes! Yes!” she squeals. “We haven’t gotten a chance to catch up with him yet!” No. No. No. No. No.

“Yeah?” Chris’s soft voice asks as he plants himself on your left. Your so-called best friend grins up at him like a fool as Danny, turning to Chris, begins to speak. “Can you babysit? Y/N’s afraid she’ll fistfight Eli if not properly supervised.” “Uh,” the blond glances down at you, a brow cocked as he takes a swig of his beer. “Yeah, I mean, any excuse to hang out with Y/N.” You shudder. Danny cocks an eyebrow. “This was supposed to be a punishment. I’m supposed to be killing two birds with one stone.” “What did I do?” Chris demands, raising his voice with a laugh. Talia still has that idiotic grin plastered on her face. It tells you that she remembers Chris and Danny’s banter just as vividly as you. “You’re sittin’ over there, obviously hung up on some mystery chick, and you won’t even tell me anything about her. You’ve been dropping vague comments about her for the past week and it’s getting annoying! Even Dodge’s pissed! Right?” You feel your heart drop as Danny glances down at Dodger and receives a sharp bark in response. “He said no,” Chris replies, obviously tense.  “Well, Dodger is a compulsive liar. I don’t know why I looked to him in the first place,” Danny retorts. Chris rolls his eyes, easing back into a comfortable posture as your brother continues on. “If you’re not gonna tell me anything about the girl, drop any hints about Age of Ultron, or do sports with me, what’s the point of being bro’s with a famous guy?” he sneers teasingly, his voice dropping into his frat boy impression when he says ‘bro’.

They joked like this all the time, especially since Chris got launched into stardom. Really, they loved each other. They were best friends. Danny was one of the many people outside of his family that Chris felt kept him grounded. And, well, Danny joked that Chris was just another guy to slowly schmooze into buying him a car, ‘like those YouTuber kids do’.

“God, where would you be if I hadn’t made it big?” “Playing Captain America, probably,” “That right?” Chris quips. You sigh. “Yeah. And probably gettin’ the girl, unlike you.”

Chris shakes his head. “No, trust me, you wouldn’t want her.” Danny narrows his eyes at Chris, an uncomfortable silence hovering over the four of you. Dodger whines impatiently before he nuzzles up to your leg. You reach down to pat him gently before he prances off, probably to attend a more... jovial conversation.

“D-Danny’s just being an asshole, Chris,” you stammer, trying to smooth over how uncomfortable this encounter had become. Talia sees this and speaks up, “... And this asshole is gonna drive me to get more alcohol since I’m sorta drunk and he is not.” Before Danny can come up with any defense, Talia grabs him by the forearm and yanks him towards the side gate. You glance up at Chris. “Sorry,” you say softly. “You’re his baby sister. I get it. Remember how much I used to mess with Scotty back in the day?” He shrugs. You let out a soft laugh. “I don’t remember anything as vividly as I remember when you convinced him to pee his pants on the front lawn,” you tease. Chris groans audibly. “It was so mean,” he says, trying to remain serious despite his laughter.

He points down to your half-empty beer. “Want another?” he asks. You chug down the remainder of your drink and reply with a short, soft-spoken ‘yes’. He grins. “Attagirl.” You follow him through the crowd, weaving between conversation circles, and up onto the patio, both of you dropping your empty bottles into the recycling bin as you make your way over to the oversized cooler. Chris kneels down and peels it open. You follow suit and the two of you gaze into the ‘Adults-Only’ red cooler expectantly. “Pick your poison,” he says softly, reaching for another beer. You shake your head. “Nothing’s jumping out at me,” you sigh, shaking your head. Chris lets the cooler close with a soft thud. “Well, now we have some thinkin’ to do. What would you want to drink for your last meal?” You lean back slightly, taken aback by how quickly he’d turned the conversation into a hypothetical in which you were on death row. “Uhm,” you ponder this for a moment before responding. “Somethin’ much stronger than a measly 8% beer.” You run your fingertips along the circular curvature of the bottom of his beer bottle. You don’t mean for the gesture to be so... obscene, somehow, but it is. Chris’s cheeks flush red. He stumbles over his words for a moment. “Wh-W-Wh... What do you have in mind?” he asks, swallowing hard. You cock an eyebrow. The man who can’t be moved is running full-speed into whatever he thinks you have planned. “Whiskey,” you reply, taking a step back. You make your way past him, shoulders brushing as you head through the sliding door and into the kitchen. Chris follows, like a lost puppy.

You sashay around the island counter and find yourself a glass. “Want some?” you ask, glancing over at Chris as he closes the sliding door behind him. He nods, setting his beer down on the counter absentmindedly. You reach up for a second identical glass and make your way over to the small alcohol tray and peruse for the exact whiskey you're looking for. You pour Chris’s first and hand it to him before pouring your own. “Thank you,” he says softly, holding his glass up. You give him a lopsided smile as you clink your glass with his and you both down your drinks. You pour another for each of you. The combination of your first beer and a glass of whiskey sends a familiar warmth through your veins. You let out a shaky breath. “Can I ask you something without it coming off strange?” he asks softly. You gaze up at him as you lean forward on your elbows over the island counter. He stands still on the opposite side, between two of the barstools. “Maybe. Ask away.” “Do you have a boyfriend down in New York?” he asks. You feel your body tense up, but you don’t let your being caught off-guard show through. “No, I don’t,” you purr, doing your best to keep a poker face. “Is this... mystery gal anything serious?” Chris watches you for a long time, throwing back his second drink. “She could be,” he replies, swallowing rather hard. You shake your head. “Crying shame,” you reply, straightening out and finishing off your drink. You can hear the soft sounds of the Teskey Brothers playing even from inside the house. “Why’s that?” You ignore his question, moving right ahead with yours. “Do I know her?” “Who?” “The girl,” you reply suspiciously. Chris shakes his head. “If I won’t tell Danny, what makes you think that I’d tell you?” “Because I love my bother, but he’s an idiot and you know it.” Chris lets out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Yeah, you know her,” he says softly. You shake your head, smiling despite your heart aching. “Oh my God, just tell me already,” you practically beg. Chris sighs, setting down his glass with resignation. “She... I don’t think I should...” he says softly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to know about it yet. I’m not sure it’ll happen.” You gaze up at Chris with resignation. You know you’re not gonna get an answer out of him, so you yield. “I bet. Well, I’m gonna head back out, okay? I really don’t want a babysitter all day,” you reply sharply, not really listening when Chris retorts with some silly comment.

...

The homecoming party goes on for a few more hours before people start saying their goodbyes. You try not to make it obvious, but you are overjoyed that you get to sleep in your old bed again. You see Talia chatting with Danny in the hallway by the bathroom and you, without another word, shut the door behind Mrs. Robinson and make your way upstairs. You drag your feet somewhat as you make your way down the familiar hallway and finally stop in front of your old bedroom door. It’s cracked open slightly and your bedside lamp is on, to your surprise, so you push the door open a little further to see Chris gazing down into one of your photo albums. “You lost?” you singsong. Chris jumps about ten feet into the air, spinning around to face you. “S-Sorry, Y/N, I just... I remembered you had these. I should’ve asked, I know, but--” You hold a hand up to cut him off as you move to sit on your bed. “You’re acting so jumpy, Chris...” you comment. He sighs, shutting the dark blue photo album and pushing it back into its spot on the shelf. “I guess I am,” he agrees, sitting on the bed beside you. He’s silent for some time after that, gazing at his shoes as though they were the most interesting things in the world. You nudge his shoulder with yours to get his attention. He glances up at you and gives you a soft smile. “What’s up? C’mon, talk to me,” you say. “What do you mean?” “Don’t play stupid. I’ve known you my whole life.”

He nods. “Yeah...” “So tell me what’s been on your mind,” you say, laying a head on his shoulder. “I’m a really good listener, I promise.” Chris gives you a look, his breath hitching in his throat for a moment. “This girl, I’ve known her forever. Hell, I’ve liked her like this for a few years now. I’m just afraid it’ll--” “Ruin it if she doesn’t feel the same,” you sigh. Chris nods as his fingers lace in yours. It surprises you, but you don’t comment on it. You don’t want to spoil the moment. “Exactly...” he breathes. You watch his chest rise and fall rhythmically. Your heart rate rises steadily. “She probably does,” you say simply. Chris glances down at you. “What do you mean?” “There’s no reason she wouldn’t like you, Chris. You’re a sweet, funny, talented mama’s boy who believes in equality. Also, you’ve got a great ass and you play Captain America. If Tumblr loves you, then chances are she will, too,” you say thoughtfully, doing your best not to stumble over your words. Chris doesn’t say anything for a long time. He turns to face you a little more, one leg folded on the bed and the other over the edge of the bed. “Y/N,” he says softly. You mirror his position, your knee pressed against his. “Yes?” “Can I do something stupid right now?” he asks. He’s nervous. You’d never seen him this way before. “Maybe,” you reply, a sly grin on your face. Chris leans forward, eyes fluttering shut. You close yours as well, leaning in for a moment you’d only admitted to Talia about dreaming of. Your lips inches from one another’s, he pauses. ”You’re okay with this?” he asks. You nod. “I’m gonna need you to use your words, little lady.” ”Yes,” you reply firmly. Chris’s hand is on your cheek in an instant, steadying himself as he presses a kiss to your lips. Your arms shoot around his neck, his scruff scaping gently at your soft skin as you kiss him back, your entire body heating up. You feel Chris’s heart pounding against his skin as you press your chest flush against his. Just when his hands slide down to your waist, you begin to feel his innate dominance take over. He pushes you down onto your back, onto the bed. His hands slowly make their way up from your hips to your hair, which he tugs rather aggressively. But you’re no sooner pried apart by the sound of Danny’s voice echoing down the hall, Talia’s giggling along. Chris sits up straight, hands folded on his lap. You reel back into reality and leap forward for the photo album. You flip it open to a random page as you sit back down beside Chris, feigning a laugh. Chris understands and relaxes, pointing to a picture and asking some dumb question. Talia and Danny make their way over to your bedroom and stand in the doorway like proud parents. “Wouldja look at ‘em?” she hums. “Seems like just yesterday he was spraying her with a hose while she was wearing a white t-shirt.” “That was her to him, Daniel,” Talia snickers. “God, you’re the worst,” you glower, narrowing your eyes at Dennis the Menace as an all-powerful duo. “We can hear you,” Chris comments. “No dip, doofus,” Talia giggles. “Get out of my room, Danny!” you exclaim, getting to your feet. “I’m not in your room, Y/N!” Danny shouts back in a mocking tone, pointing down at the floor around your doorframe. “This is your room.” “Mooooom!” you roar, stomping your foot. “Daniel!” your mother calls from somewhere in the house. “I’m not in her room!?” “Danny, listen to your mother!” Mr. (Y/L/N) shouts from his bedroom, just down the hall. “Alright! Alright! I yield!” Danny cries, taking another step back. “Talia and I were just wondering if you guys wanted to go out back and start a bonfire. There are a lot of people from high school who couldn’t make it to dinner that wanted to see you today.”

You glance over at Chris and he shrugs. “You gonna stay?” “Yeah, sure. I’ll get Scott and Carly to come back,” he says, pulling his phone from his back pocket. You glance up at your brother, slamming the photo album shut. “Sure,” you reply. Danny nods and heads out down the hall, already sending out a mass text. But Talia doesn’t move. “Holy fucking shit,” she says softly. You cock an eyebrow at her before following her line of sight to Chris’s... ahem... prominent erection. Chris glances up, confused at first, but soon a realization washes over him. He yanks the photo album from you and presses it over his crotch sheepishly. “Please don’t tell Danny,” he begs.

[bitionraingang]

Comes Around

Sorry to whoever will be reading this. It sucks, but I love writing!

The Quiett angst/fluff(?)

——————————————————————————

He was no longer coming home. I’ve waited until 5AM walking back and forth, from our room to the front door. At around 5:30AM, I would rest my eyes for 2 hours before having to wake up again to get our 5 year old son, Dong Soo up for Preschool. I called and called. But all I heard was “Please leave voice mail in…” I’ve called in sick for over 2 weeks now. Every footstep I took back into our apartment was dreading. I constantly looked around hoping for him to magically pop out of a corner, with a big smile, apologizing, saying he was busy. But no. It never happened.

Joonkyung came over a couple of times. Though he was closer to Dong Gab than me, he felt that it was right that I knew. He’s been seeing some girls. Girls who weren’t moms. Girls who weren’t wives. Girls who he felt a thrill to be with because he was taken. He didn’t want to be taken anymore. He didn’t want to be responsible. He wanted his life motto to be “fuck bitches, get money” again. Joonkyung had been a great support for me and a great role model for Dong Soo. I was happy that at least I had a friend who truly cared.

I no longer cried. I no longer sighed. I no longer waited. I was happy. 5 years ago, on the day that I sent Dong Gab our divorce papers, he came back home. He was crying. He only cried 5 times in his life. Once when he was born, second when I said I wanted to break up after dating for 2 years, third when I said yes to his proposal, fourth when I gave birth to Dong Soo, and finally, the fifth when he came back home. He said he was stupid. He begged me to forgive him. But my heart was as hard as a stone. I said no. I waited 6 months for him to come back. But now, I won’t. I was willing to give him the freedom that he wanted from me, from us. But why? Why didn’t he want it now? I didn’t understand. So that night, I did what I gave up on a long time ago. I called my supervisor, asking if I can repeal my decision about the transfer opportunity I was offered. I initially had said no because as a mother and as a wife, I had a duty here. Here in our home, or what was our home. I could not just leave everything or force the other two to leave everything in order for me to move forward with my career. But now, I had nothing holding me back. Leaving Dong Gab in tears trying to envelope my body into his, with all my strength I tightly held onto Dong Soo in my arms and forced off Dong Gab off and went into the taxi. I wanted to cry too because I was scared, but now I had no shoulders to lean on. I had to become the shoulder for our, no, my Dong Soo.

Looking out into the night sky, I took the last sip of my Rosé. I felt peaceful. I felt content. But was I truly happy? The arms wrapped around my waist felt so warm. He had fought so hard to be here. I taught Sociology and he taught Law at Columbia University. I did not want to be in a relationship with anyone after Dong Gab, but Jintae had slowly crawled with warmth into my heart. He pecked my neck, tickling me with his facial hair. I giggled and turned around to face him, his arms still wrapped around me. I gave him a big smile and leaned in to give a peck on his neck.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asked.

“I’ve just been thinking.” I replied.

“Bout?” I could feel his voice rumbling in his chest.

Of course I couldn’t tell him what I had been really thinking about. We were almost like a married couple. We lived together for almost 3 years now and even adopted a dog with Dong Soo.

“Let’s go back to bed, I’m tired.” I pulled him towards our bedroom, trying to change the subject.

“Okay,” he never said no to me. Whatever I wanted, we would do.

I laid down towards his side of the bed so I can cuddle to his warmth. He was always warm. So it always had me wondering, would his warmth eventually cool down as well? I haven’t thought of Dong Gab since I moved back to New York. Everything was just so hectic. The explaining I had to do to my parents, friends, getting ready for a new job, taking care of my 5 year old son… it was a lot to deal with at first. Now that I think about it, I had left my home in New York to get married to Dong Gab and 5 years later I’m back, leaving what I thought became my home to get away from Dong Gab.

I loved waking up to the sounds of Jintae and Dong Soo laughing. Jintae took care of Dong Soo as if he was his. It was quite amazing to see the type of bond they have. Their relationship was more about being a father and son. It’s almost as if they were soulmates who understood each other 100% (which sometimes made me jealous). I walked out of my bedroom towards the sounds of laughter in the kitchen. There they were, my two most important people at the moment, laughing over nothing, just making pancakes. Quickly walking towards Dong Soo, I grabbed his cheeks and gave him a big smooch. My big boy who was 10 now still loved my kisses. With his bright eyes, he looked up smiling and said,

“Mommy sit down, we’re making you breakfast with the new recipe we got from Desert Master.”

It was their thing. To watch Desert Master, find a new recipe, and make it for me. Suddenly, Dong Soo said he left an important note for us from school in his room. I lightly tapped his cute bottom so he would go get it and show me. I looked up at Jintae who had been looking at me with a huge grin ever since I walked out of my bedroom. I walked towards him and gave him a hug from the back. I stood there for about a minute, just breathing in his scent.

“Good morning,” I mumbled.

“Good morning. You get more and more breathtaking each day my queen” he replied with a sly smile.

“Stop it” I groaned and reached up to peck his lips.

He snapped around to grab my chin up towards him and gave me more than a peck. I was laughing into the kiss, trying to shake him off before Dong Soo got back. Me trying to break away would only cause him to tighten his grip on my chin. Just as we could hear Dong Soo loudly explaining the reason for the letter, we broke away. I was going to turn to Dong Soo as Jintae held me back and whispered into my ear,

“I’ve been waiting for so long. That was only the beginning. Be ready for tonight.”

With rosy cheeks I looked at Jintae and elbowed his side. We haven’t had sex in over a month because of Dong Soo starting middle school in September and us, preparing the syllabi for our own classes in the Fall. So I guess, I was craving him too.

After having somewhat burnt yet, delicious pancakes for breakfast, I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for a quick check in meeting with the Sociology Department head in a few hours. Dong Soo was in the living room watching Stranger Things 5 on Netflix and Jintae was sitting on the closed toilet next to the mirror which I was standing in front of.

“So what was it you’re exactly doing with her today?” He asked.

“We’re just going over the syllabus and talking about the class structure for the year because you know who fucked up last year.” I replied.

The last semester, a colleague of mine had sexual relationships with multiple students in his class and was teaching anything, but Sociology during his lecture. So at the start of a new semester, the Department Head wanted to meet up with every single professor in her department to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.

“Right… Sociology people are so weird.” He said trying to tease me.

“Yeah, but you’re in Law you doodoo head.” I snapped back at him.

“Yeah, but you love this doodoo head.” He said while laughing.

As I closed my foundation cap, I looked at him in the eyes and said,

“Do I?” And walked out of the bathroom.

Jintae just smiled at me as he watched me getting dressed.

“Can you stop staring and smiling at me like a creep.” I complained.

“I’m just so excited for tonight. I can’t help it.” He replied.

Saying goodbye, I walked into the elevator. 34 floors later, I was out, walking the streets of New York City. The weather was still warm though it was late august. I had a good amount of time before my interview so I decided to walk instead of taking the train. Columbia was just 30 blocks away from my apartment so it wasn’t that bad.

15 minutes into my walk, Spotify just happened to turn on a song with a familiar voice. I guess it was his new album or something. After leaving Korea, I made sure to block him out of my life in any way possible by getting rid of social media and mutual friends. I was contemplating whether or not I should skip the music, but I realized it wasn’t his usual upbeat kind of song. Without the song even starting yet, it seemed to have a deep and heavy feeling to it. I turned to look at the title and it was “All These Girls.” Feeling my throat tightening I quickly skipped the song. Just another song about women. Even after all that has happened with his ex-wife, he still felt comfortable enough to fuck other bitches? I guess I really meant nothing to him. Tears were about to escape my eyes, still broken over what happened. But I was stronger now. I can’t let this affect my life. So with stronger strides, I walked towards the university.

After about 30 minutes, I was finally in front of the main entrance. I smiled at the security guard and made my way to the Sociology department. And just so happens that Dong Gab was there. I could feel my eyes go wide as I saw him from afar. Just as he was about to turn towards my direction, I quickly ran past him and beeped myself in. Why was here? Was here to hook up with some college girls? Was he here to filming something? I took out my phone and did something I haven’t done in over 5 years now. I looked up his name on Google. The first thing that popped was: “Illionaire Records The Quiett becomes Professor Shin.”

It felt very suffocating to hear that. Here I was sitting on a bench right in front of the Department Office just contemplating whether or not I should quit. In the article, apparently they were staying here for half a year to teach the Sociology course on how music affects people. If he were to do that, then obviously we’re going to have to see each other since we’re in the same department. Then he might try to get back into my and Dong Soo’s life. That can’t happen. Alright, so today at my meeting, I’m just gonna tell the Head I can teach this year. And maybe I’ll come back next year. Yeah that’s what I’m going to do becau…

“Excuse me?” Someone asked as they tapped my shoulder.

Too deep in thought, I couldn’t recognize the voice and looked up. Oh shit. Just fuck my life. This is great.

“Y/n? It’s you right? Y/f/n? It’s me, Joonkyung. Remember me?” He asked frantically.

Of course I remember you, you retard. How could I forget. You know what, I’ll just pretend to be someone else and just walk away. I’ll go and tell her right now and just go home and everything will be okay.

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person. My name is not Y/n, it’s Audrey.” I replied as calmly as I can.

“Stop lying, I could see right through you. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for so long.” Joonkyung said with a look of concern and a tight grip on my arms.

Fuck. Is this where it all ends? No, if I tell him to not say anything to Dong Gab, it’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll take him out to dinner or something. Just as long as Dong Gab doesn’t know.

“Sorry, Joonkyung. I just needed to get away from him. And the only way I could do that was by cutting everyone off. But hey, can you not say anything to him? Like we can have dinner or something and I’ll explain everything to you. Just please, please don’t tell him.” I pleaded.

I knew I was begging to the person who was more than a brother to Dong Gab, but this was the most I can do to save myself from going through hell again.

“Alright… just give me your number… I’ll call you. Dong Gab is in the bathroom right now and he should be getting back soon. So hurry up to where you need to be.” He said while glancing behind himself.

I lightly jumped up at the sound of footsteps coming towards us and the voice I no longer wanted to hear saying,

“Joonkyung, the bathroom here is clean so you should go when you can.”

I couldn’t bare to look at the person walking closer so with my head hung low, I swiftly ran into the department office. With the door to my back, I heard his voice mumbling asking Joonkyung who he was with. Letting out a huge sigh, I walked towards the Head’s cubicle.

I had originally asked if I can get the year off due to personal reasons. She says she would’ve said yes to me, but there were already 6 Professors who won’t be in for the first semester because they were due to give birth. So instead she said I can have off for the second semester. Either that or she would take my year leave for an eternal leave from this university. I couldn’t have my job to go away in a snap just because of him. So what did I do? I called Joonkyung.

After waving at Joonkyung through the cafe window, I pressed call.

“Hey babe, when you coming home?”

“Jintae, something came up so I’ll be home a little but later. That’s okay right?” I asked.

“Yeah, just let me know when you’re getting home so I can drop off Dong Soo at Chris’ house.” He replied.

Right… today was going to be our “date night”. I just know I won’t be in the right mind today and I don’t want Jintae to suspect anything…

“Umm… Jintae, I’m really sorry, but I’m very tired from the meeting today. Is it okay if we moved it? I feel like I won’t be in the mood and I don’t want you to feel like it’s because of you.” I said apologetically.

There was an awkward silence for about 30 seconds before I cleared my throat and called his name.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Just let me know when you’re getting home.” He seemed to reply with a sigh.

“Yeah, I will. Love you.” I said as I hung up.

I walked into the cafe and sat across Joonkyung. He gave me a tight smile and clasped his hands together. After the waitress took our order, I finally looked at him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I said, feeling tears welling up.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I know why you did that. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything.” He said as he grabbed my hands.

“I just couldn’t take it. I waited for him to realize that he was leaving me, leaving Dong Soo, leaving us. He basically gave up on our family. I gave up everything I had to be with him. Joonkyung, I was 21 when I got married to him. He was 37. I thought he would be the mature guy he was when we were dating. But it seems like the lyrics in his songs were right.” I cried.

“I know, but the lyrics thing was wrong. He always loved you. He still loves you. But I think it was the stress catching up to him.” Joonkyung said carefully.

“He didn’t come home until I was done. You know when he came back? When I sent him the divorce papers.” I said.

“I know. I was there. We were in the studio and I was telling him to go back home to you guys. That he shouldn’t be doing this. Once I brought the papers to him, he jumped up and ran home. He didn’t even take his car. He ran home Y/n. And you know what running means for Dong Gab.” Joonkyung said taking my hand into his.

My chest tightened at that. I still loved him, but there was no way that I would be able to forgive him. I looked up at Joonkyung and said,

“That doesn’t matter anymore. I loved him. I’m pretty sure that I still do, but I don’t want to go through this whole drama with him again.”

“But don’t you want closure? Y/n, think about Dong Soo, doesn’t...” Joonkyung spoke softly.

“Dong Soo doesn’t even remember who he is anymore. Joonkyung, I’ve been with someone for quite some time now. He takes care of my son like he’s his own. Jintae will be more than what Dong Gab can offer.” I said fiercely.

“You’re meeting someone else?” He asked.

“What am I supposed to do? Live like a nun after my failed marriage? Joonkyung, I know you’re doing this because you really care, but right now, I’m happy with the family I have right now. Jintae is amazing to both me and my son. There is nothing more I could ask for than having Dong Gab turn down his position as a professor.” I said.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that to hyung. He’s excited to become a professor here. As much as I love you and care for you, I can’t do that hyung who’s always been there for me” He replied.

I sighed and said, “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don't know what to do anymore. My life finally is getting better and here he comes like a storm again. Literally a quiet storm.”

“Hey, but everything happens for a reason. Whether you guys meet again or get back together will be in God’s hands. So don’t try to change fate” Joonkyung said with a warm smile.

After some silence, I asked, “He’s moved on right? I just happened to hear the intro to a song that was recently released, though I didn’t listen to the whole thing, I could tell it was about his girls… you know I was always scared that his lyrics would become true? But I never told him because what if that planted a seed in him to actually go on with that act?”

Joonkyung shaked his head and sighed, “You’ve got it all wrong. ‘All These Girls’? That song is about you. He wrote that in regret. While I was mastering the song he said he hoped that you would listen to the song and come back to him. I told him the title was a bad choice, but he wanted to keep it like that.”

“Well, I saw the title and immediately turned it off because I was mad. Thinking how could he just continue with his actions just like that.” I said.

“You know, you guys are technically still married?” Joonkyung brought up.

“What? What do you mean?” Confused, I looked into his eyes.

“After you guys left, he never signed the papers, he put it in the paper shredder. So you guys are technically still married.” He explained.

It still didn’t make sense to me how when someone was given the freedom they wanted, they didn’t take it. Tears started welling up in my eyes. I lightly gasped, feeling my chest tighten with pain from the situation.

“Y/n, no matter how much you deny it, I can tell, the whole world can tell that you still love Dong Gab.” Joonkyung said as he got up and took a seat next to me. He lightly pulled me into a hug and stroked my hair.

“I just want the best for you both, but I know and even you know that you don’t want it to end like this. Dong gab hyung feels the same way.”

Joonkyung held me in his arms until I could look up without having tears well up in my eyes. After 3 hours of catching up, Joonkyung drove me home.

“Why do you have a Bentley here?” I teased him.

“Hey, a man’s got to be ready to take any of his ladies home.” He said with a smile. We finally pulled up in front of my apartment and I got out of the car. He walked from the driver’s side to the passenger side and pulled me into a hug once again.

“Just think about it okay? Don’t think about anyone else, but yourself. Ask yourself if you want to be with Dong Gab or not.”

I returned the hug and said, “Thanks Joonkyung. I had fun today. Don’t forget to give me a call sometimes.”

We released each other and just smiled under the shining moonlight. As he gave my cheek a friendly peck, I felt a presence right behind me and heard,

“Who is this Y/n?”

“Oh, Jintae. Dong Soo, where you guys coming from?” I asked slightly caught off guard.

“Y/n, I asked who this was.” Jintae said slightly angered from the sight he witnessed. I could see Dong Soo somewhat hiding behind Jintae.

“Oppa, this is Joonkyung oppa. He’s a friend of mine from Korea. He’s always been like an older brother to me and we happened to meet today at school.” I explained.

“Dong Soo, do you remember uncle Joonkyung? He was the first person to take a picture of you when you were born. He also helped feed and change your diapers when you were a baby.” I said waving my hands towards Dong Soo so he could come closer.

I saw the Jintae’s grip on Dong Soo’s hand loosen as Joonkyung stepped closer to see Dong Soo.

“Hey man, you remember me? Wow, you’re almost as tall as me.” Joonkyung laughed.

I was surprised to see Dong Soo jump into his arms. Joonkyung looked equally surprised.

“Uncle, where have you been? I missed you. I missed you and daddy.” Dong Soo cried.

My eyes widen at his words. Did Dong Soo remember them all this time, but I hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t he said anything? Tears were welling up once again as I saw my crying son being held in the arms of his crying uncle. I couldn’t help but to question if all of my actions were done out of mere selfishness. I came to a realization that I had physically ripped my son that I loved so much from his father whom Dong Soo had loved just as equally. Joonkyung was crying softly murmuring apologies into Dong Soo’s ears. I turned towards Jintae who looked very lost. Thinking back, over the course of years of being with Jintae, I realized I have been trying to fill up Dong Gab’s empty spot with Jintae and have been deceiving myself to think everything was fine. But now, I knew that after today, I would have to clear things up with him.

After all the chaos that happened, Dong Soo was in his bed sleeping while Jintae and I were seated on the couch of our living room. There was silence as we didn’t know how to start the conversation.

“I…” Jintae and I said at the same time.

“You go first.” I said.

“No, you go.” He replied.

Taking a gulp of my own saliva, I started with, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Jintae asked.

“I think I’ve been deceiving myself to protect myself from getting hurt.” I replied.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his face cringing with a hint of hurt.

“Jintae, I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done, for me and Dong Soo, for everything we’ve gone through, but I don’t think I loved you. There were times where I did feel flutters in my heart, but I think I missed Dong Gab so much that I was trying to replace you in my heart.” I said crying.

With desperation in his voice, Jintae said as he grasped my hand,

“No, baby. You’ve got it wrong. I love you and you love me. We’re gonna get through this. It’s just because you were reminded of your past today and Dong Soo crying like that, that you feel this way.”

“Oppa, I’m sorry, but I don’t love you. I loved the idea that someone else was in love with me even after all that had happened in my life. I know how much it hurts to be in the position of not being loved by the person you love so I think we need to end this here. I don’t want you to be hurt.” I cried as I pulled him into a warm hug.

“But, think about all the things we went through. If you feel like you don’t love me anymore then, think about the times we had love. I can’t let you go like this.” Jintae cried into my hair as he tightened his grip on my waist.

I could only cry along with him because I understood the emotion of pain he was going through. No matter how much I am grateful for Jintae coming into my life, I couldn't deny the fact that I still did love Dong Gab 5 years after we had “broken” up.

I woke up to the sunlight slowly creeping its way into the bedroom. I turned my body away from the window and faced Jintae who was sleeping next to me. After our long talk yesterday, we had decided to break up. So today would be the last day as being a couple. I shifted myself closer to his body and wrapped my arms around him. As I peppered light kisses on his shoulder, I muttered apologies.

“It’s going to make it harder for me to break up with you if you keep doing that.” I heard Jintae say without moving.

I giggled lightly and removed my arms from his body. I sat up and pushed his disheveled hair out of his face.

“I’m sorry oppa.”

“It’s okay, as long as you were honest with me, I’m okay.” He replied, finally opening his eyes.

How was someone able to be so understanding and warm even if they were thrown off the bus? I really didn’t deserve someone as good as him.

I reached down to give a peck on his lips and said,

“Let’s get up and talk with Dong Soo.”

“I thought we’re breaking up, how can you kiss me like that?” Jintae asked with a smile.

“We haven’t broken up yet so I still can.” I replied as I got off the bed.

We ate at a local diner in front of our apartment as we explained the situation to Dong Soo. Dong Soo also shared his part of why he hadn’t said anything about missing his dad, he didn’t want to see me sad after he did once when he was younger. Hand in hand, we walked back to our apartment. Today was the official last day of Jintae, Dong Soo, and I being a family. I had planned to move out of the apartment with Dong Soo, but Jintae said he would because it would make the move easier and make it easier for him to adjust to living alone.

Hot tears dropped to my chin as I watched the scene of Jintae giving Dong Soo a big hug.

“Hey man, make sure you’re always good to your mom. And remember me leaving doesn’t mean that you can’t call me or come see me when you want to. No matter what I’ll always be here for you. Alright?”

“Thank you dad, uncle Jintae you will always be my second dad.” Dong Soo said.

Jintae smiled with tears in his eyes as he faced Dong Soo. He slowly got up to my eye level and pulled me into a hug. I burst out crying once again.

“I’m so sorry oppa.”

“It’s okay, baby, you’re going to be happy. I’ll be happy too okay?” He said as he pulled away from the hug. I placed my hands on his cheeks as I gave him a warm kiss before he could leave. After a chaste make out, we finally pulled away.

“I’ll get going, make sure to keep in contact!” Jintae said as he walked away waving at us.

Dong Soo gave me a side hug as we watched Jintae get into the uber that would take him to his new place.

Dong Soo and I were cuddled up in my bed after Jintae left.

“Honey, did you miss daddy very much?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” Dong Soo answered with a shaky voice, trying hard not to cry.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t know that. We’ll meet daddy soon okay?” I said as I pulled his head towards my chest.

“Thank you mommy.” He replied as we fell into a 3 hour nap.

It has been 3 days since Jintae left and we were doing fine. With deep breaths I pressed the button to give Joonkyung a call.

“Hello? Y/n?” He picked up.

“Hey, oppa. Can we meet up?” I asked.

In less than 30 minutes, Joonkyung was outside waiting for Dong Soo and I by the passenger side of his Bentley.

��Sorry, we didn’t have enough time to get ready when you said you’ll be here in 20 minutes.” I said.

“No, mommy it was just you. I was done in like 5 minutes, you took the extra time.” Dong Soo said wittly.

Joonkyung laughed as he gave Dong Soo a hug and proceeded to give me one while placing a peck on my cheeks. We all got into the car and went off to our destination for some late lunch.

After placing our orders Dong Soo was off to the kids play section. Joonkyung looked up at me with anticipation and said,

“So, what’s up? I had to lie to Dong Gab hyung to come meet you.”

“Well, first, Jintae and I broke it off.” I said and proceeded to explain everything that had happened after he left that night.

“I mean, I’m happy that you’re happy, but does that mean you’re going to meet Dong Gab hyung now?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I answered truthfully.

“I know we have to meet for the sake of Dong Soo, but I don’t know if things can ever be the same again. I still love him, but I don't know if I’m ready to go back into a relationship with him.”

“I think that’s fine. You don’t have to push yourself to get into a relationship with hyung, but you should clear up things with him for the sake of your son. He misses you and Dong Soo a lot.” He answered.

“But, I also don’t know how and where to get started with him. It’s been such a long time. I don’t even remember his phone number anymore.” I said.

“I guess it was a great idea for me to actually calling him to come here. Sorry, but before I left, I told him to meet me here. He thinks I’m grabbing lunch with him, but little does his know…”

“You called him here? Joonkyung, what if I called you to say I don’t want to meet him anymore? How could you do that?” I asked.

“I already knew where your heart stood after that night. I just wanted you to sort it out first and then let me know. You better thank me for this later on.” He said with a smile.

It was any minute that Dong Gab was going to walk through that door. Joonkyung gave my hand a squeeze as he knew how nervous I was becoming. Then we heard a ding as the door opened, indicating someone walked in.

“He’s here. Hyung!” Joonkyung said as he gave my hand another squeeze.

“Sorry I’m late, there was traffic on the way here. Oh, didn’t know you had company.” I heard Dong Gab say. My back was facing towards the door so all I heard was his voice. He sounded the same from 5 years ago. I couldn’t help, but wonder how he looked now.

“Hello, I’m Dong Gab, I didn’t know Joonkyung had company.” He said.

I saw Joonkyung smile a little and look up at Dong Gab.

“Hyung, don’t be too shocked.’ Joonkyung said as he signaled me towards Dong Gab with his chin.

I slowly turned to face Dong Gab, I could see his face change from a nonchalant look to a look of surprise as he realized who I was.

“Hey.” I said with a tight smile. Tears were brimming up in the lines of his eyes and he took a deep breath and pulled me into a hug. I didn’t have the courage to return the hug, but I softly sobbed in his arms. All sorts of emotions ranging from happiness to sadness to anger poured out.

I could hear Dong Gab sobbing as he buried his head in the crook of my neck.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I’m so sorry. Baby, please forgive me for everything. I missed you so much. Baby I’m sorry.”

“Daddy?” a soft voice called.

Dong Gab slightly released me from his arms and turned towards the soft voice.

“Soo, baby. My baby. Daddy is so sorry. I missed you so much baby. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Dong Gab cried as he reached down to pull Dong Soo into a tight hug. I could only cry as this scene played out in front of me. Joonkyung got up from his seat and pulled me into his embrace. After everyone had calmed down, we all took our seats to eat. I watched Dong Soo eat happily as he told his dad everything that went on for the past 5 years. I couldn’t eat as I was still overwhelmed with the situation and just watched the two happily conversing. From time to time Dong Gab would look up at me with sad eyes. Joonkyung lightly elbowed me so I would eat and I just gave a small smile back. After lunch, Joonkyung proposed to take Dong Soo on a shopping spree “to make up for the lost years” so that Dong Gab and I would have some time alone.

We were seated side by side on a bench at Central Park. There were children running around with their parents, couples strolling in the sun’s gaze, tourists on horse carriages. Everyone seemed content with the beautiful weather and situation except for us. We were still caught up in the past, not knowing where to start.

“I know I don’t deserve to say this, but I’m sorry and I missed you. A lot.” He said.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Went my heart. It was no lie that I still loved Dong Gab. But will I be able to forgive him was the question. I heard him shift closer to me and I just sighed looking up to the sky.

“I know saying sorry won’t fix anything, but I don’t know how else to express myself.” He said.

“After Dong Soo and I left, I cut off all social media and contact with anyone that had connections with you. I didn’t want to be reminded of you in any way. You know, I waited. No, we waited 6 months for you to come back. I know it must’ve been hard for you to be tied down after long years of being so free. So that’s why I waited. Because I knew you didn’t mean it. But when my river of hope was brought to a drought, I couldn’t do it anymore. Dong Gab, I was 21 when I got married to you. You were 37. I left my home in New York to get married to you and there I was, 5 years later I’m back, leaving what I thought became my home in order to get away from the very reason to why I came.” I started.

“I know. And I will never be able to forgive myself for hurting you.” He interjected while grabbing my hand.

Holding in my tears, I said, “I didn’t understand why you left and then tried to come back when I gave you your freedom. That’s why I’ve been mad. I was sad and upset about you cheating, but more mad about the fact that you came crying when you finally got what you asked for. Dong Gab, did you even love me? Or did the thought of someone leaving you make you want to come back?”

“Y/n, I’ve loved you since the very first time I laid my eyes on you. When I saw you get into that white G-Wagon on that day, I knew that I needed to have you. I still love you. I know I hurt you to the point where it’s indescribable I don’t fully understand why I did that. I think it was because I knew or felt like you would always be there for me to return to. But after seeing the divorce papers, I knew I fucked up. I couldn’t do anything to turn you around. I’m sorry Y/n. He cried.

“After I moved here, there was a man. He taught me to love and be loved again. We were so happy. He was so good to Dong Soo, treating him like his own son. Jintae loved Dong Soo and I so much that he let us go back to you oppa.” I said finally returning the grip he had on my hand. Shocked, Dong Gab lifted his head, face red from crying. I slowly let the tears drip down to my cheeks as I pulled his face closer to mine.

“Meeting Joonkyung reminded me of how I have yet to learn to unlove you. I hate you for everything you’ve done, but my love for you is so much bigger than that.” I said before placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

I slowly pulled away, as he kept pushing in, almost as if he didn’t want to move away from my warm lips. We smiled at each other with tears brimming once again. He said, “I love you” before cupping my cheeks and pulling me into another warm, deep kiss.

[swearronchanel]

9.05

 🎶Do re mi fa so time for me to talk my nonsense..🎶

THE HILLS ARE ALIVE TONIGHT AND SO AM I I!! even tho it’s actually 3pm here LMAO *SINGS* LETSSS START FROM THE VERY BEGININNGGGGG

I’m so ready for the sound of music content LESS GOO

wow just kidding it’s starting off so sad😭

“there are moments when life seems to pause” felt that

I’m glad to see Sister MJ is there with Sister J tho 😭

“They gave all they had, all that they were.”

Tim!! He’s so grown omg

really Patrick? eat a damn pancake

“I love Julie Andrews” WHO DOESNT?? QUEEN!

LMAO Phyllis 😂 but even Phyllis stans!

OMG Sister Mj skipping, so pure I love her 😂

Violet should just rig the raffle we know Sister Mj deserves to go ! She wants it so badly

LMAOO “I’ll pin an I.O.U”

SISTER MONICA JOAN ILL TAKE YOU TO THE MOVIES DAMN IT!

We better hear what Sister Frances has to say about the movie

“I demand that you acknowledge it” me to the ctm writers about the sound of music for the last 4 years 😂😂 tbh me to the writers about EVERYTHING

“Frivolous and inappropriate” ugh Sister J pull the stick out your ass you know God purposely blessed the world with Dame Julie Andrews, also how can you hurt Sister MJ like that?

Aww no words from Cyril

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” STOP I WILL CRY

Judy Parfait is literally a gem, I want to hug her

Oof Cheryl that hurt

“You’re taking them to see an escalator?” LMFAO MS HIGGINS IS A SUBTLE SAVAGE

oh no what’s wrong with mrs calthorpe

Sister Hilda giving a class to fathers? Love to see it😂 give her more screen time though

LOOK AT YOUNG JULIE ON THE COVER😭😍 bow down to the TRUE queen of england

A DR SPOCK BOOK! WHERE’S SHELAGH ? 😂 also remember the Rugrats version? Dr Lipshitz LMAO

“The jungle drum’s been banging” 😂😂 word travels fast on the mean streets of poplar

Why is she bleeding??

This guy is so nervous 😂 it’s cute though

Sister Hilda can’t stand crying in public? She obviously didn’t go to university bc my bitch ass can cry ANYWHERE now LMAO 😅🔫

Val’s dress? Cute

A NONNATUS HOUSE TRIP PLS

Trixie looks great as always! Also can’t believe they mentioned her God mother in Portofino! You know how people disappear from their lives *cough cough Trixie’s brother for example*

Aye the Den is my favorite bar too 😂😂

Phyllis is annoyed but still giving him a chance, what a brick

Sister Frances is such a recycled Sister Winnifred and it’s a shame, make her more unique

Val knows how tough ladies had to be/still are

Aww the dad is crying, how sweet🥺

Tickety boo and marvelous! WHERE in the world is MRS CHUMMY NOAKES?! I Miss her rip, Miranda Hart is funny af

ugh this so so heartbreaking😭

“Nurse Turner” 🥺 that was cute

SISTER MJ WANTS THIS SO BAD LMAO GIVE IT TO HER VIOLET!!

Now Sister Frances will take over and they’ll warm up to her, like one of the earlier Jenny storylines I remember from season 1 right?

Is it the strawberry or angel mark? whatever people call it

omg grace’s mom, I’m legit gonna cry this one hurts

poor grace is going to wear herself thin, sister Frances help out

get out omg she better not stick her head in the oven

“How you’re invisible...” 😭 damn that hurt

backstory unlocked for sister Hilda ✅  give us more now

“Doris day as another, que sera, sera” LOVE TO HEAR THAT FROM PHYLLIS UGH give me lessons only through pop culture lol

SISTER J and SISTER B PARALLELS

HOLY SHIT SHE TOOK OFF THE HABIT AND WHIMPLE I DIDNT EXPECT THIS?!

SISTER MJ NOTICED HER

SISTER JULIENNE WENT TO SEE THE MOVIE I CAN NOT RIGHT NOW THIS IS AMAZING

“Have you lost May and Angela?” I LOVE MS HIGGINS LMAO

Tim is only back just to play babysitter again LMAO

But Shelagh and Patrick are going to see their counter parts soon MARIA AND GEORG WE LOVE

SHelagh just tell him COME HOME!

Oh no Grace!! 😭

The Turners having a TV dinner who would’ve thought LMAO lean cuisine baby

Angela speaks AGAIN wheww that’s still shocking. The girls are so adorable though

Trixie’s right don’t dismiss some vanity! But shes so much more that though UGH

Sister MJ found a new owl😭

Sister Hilda is for sure underrated

Even though Trixie is my fav and was hardly in this episode: dare I say this has been the best ep this season??  

“What makes night within us may leave stars” wow

OF COURSE THE FILM RESONATED WITH YOU GUYS !!! DUHHH

“Your voice touched my soul” GET TF OUT THE TURNERS ARE NEVER ROMANTIC THIS IS SWEET AS FUCK

NO BUT SERIOUSLY THEY ARE SEXLESS?!

“We’ll always have Columbia road” STOP OMG

that literally made me love the Turners again, TBH I was over them for the last few seasons but as of right now I’m back on the damn bandwagon beep beep bitches

SISTER J IS GONNA USE THAT MONEY AND TAKE THE WHOLE HOUSE TO SEE THE SOUND OF MUSIC

“Closest thing to edelweiss” Patrick should’ve broke out into song but no offense he was right he isn’t Christopher Plummer 😂😛

THIS IS THE PUREST THING

ALSO THE GIRLS LOOK GREAT

“The world shifts around us and we shape ourselves to fit. Imperfect and beautiful...” 💖

[letterboxd]

Milking It.

Peerless American filmmaker Kelly Reichardt talks to Ella Kemp about her new film, First Cow, her favorite animal performers, and getting down to the nitty gritty of things.

We’re resharing this post to mark the arrival of ‘First Cow’ on VOD. The interview took place timed to the original release of the film in March, prior to the coronavirus pandemic.

With little fuss, Kelly Reichardt has been making some of the most tender and thoughtful films about American loneliness for decades. The quietly acclaimed director, writer and film lecturer began her feature career in 1994 with River of Grass, a runaway story of a couple caught in a tragedy, and now celebrates her ten-title milestone as a filmmaker by gifting the world the peaceful and moving portrait of another pair of nomads in First Cow.

Reichardt has earned her reputation as one of the most impressive and reliable American filmmakers with knockouts including the stripped-back heartbreaker, Wendy and Lucy and the stunning portrait of feminine isolation and frustration, Certain Women. There is always a common thread—and there is often Michelle Williams—but then, also, each film is a rich, vivid new tale that feels like it belongs to you and no one else.

Based on the 2004 novel The Half-Life, written by Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, First Cow has been coming together for over a decade, and feels like the culmination of Reichardt’s finest skills and sensibilities. The story follows Cookie (John Magaro) a taciturn cook travelling alongside fur trappers in 19th-century Oregon, whose ambition comes into focus when he meets King Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant. Together, they develop not only an essential friendship, but also a delicious business model, which involves slyly stealing milk from a cow owned by a wealthy landowner. It’s a film of subtle gestures, of deeply tender attentions, with a sharp eye across endless landscapes, and already has devoted fans on Letterboxd.

“I have never felt so well cared for by a movie,” writes Liz Shannon Miller in her Letterboxd review. Zachary Panozzo appreciates the way the film tackles American capitalism as a system, writing that “First Cow, in the most pleasant and honest way, calls bullshit on that.” And Phil Wiedenheft observes: “It feels—like all her work—so simple and elegant that it’s a wonder how [many] histrionics so many other filmmakers have to perform to end up saying less.” And, everyone wants those butter-honey biscuits.

First Cow premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last year and went on to the New York Film Festival shortly after, before impressing European audiences last month in competition at the 2020 Berlinale.

Sharing memories of the writers who shaped her movies, the first film that proved that cinema could show a different view of the world, and the greatest animal performers of all time, Reichardt chats with our London correspondent, Ella Kemp.

Orion Lee as King-Lu and John Magaro as Cookie in ‘First Cow’.

How did you choose where to strip The Half-Life back, to get to a film-sized story? Kelly Reichardt: The novel goes through four decades and they sail to China, so it was way outside the realm of what we could do. It also has a contemporary thread, and that just became a prologue and we settled into the 1820s. We found the main mechanism, the cow, which doesn’t exist in the novel—in the novel they’re selling the oil from beaver glands to China. So once we had the narrative element of the cow, we could work our own way into the script while still using a lot of the themes and stories from John’s novel. And the other thing John did, which was great, was to combine two characters from the novel. King Lu is actually a fusion of two people in the novel.

On paper, First Cow might seem like a straightforward Western but in practice it feels much softer. How do you see it in terms of genre? I didn’t feel any limits by a genre, and I wasn’t really thinking of it as a ‘big W’ Western. I actually see it as a heist film if anything. When I made Meek’s Cutoff, we were dealing with bonnets and wagons and the desert and people crossing West. That felt like having to deal with the whole history of the Western while we set up the camera, but I didn’t feel like that at all here. I just felt like we were telling an intimate story about two people. We were in the minutiae of trying to find out as much as we could about the Multnomah tribes that lived on the Columbia river, and we had fashioned Toby Jones’ character—the Chief Factor—after John McLoughlin in the [retail business group] Hudson’s Bay Company. It was more about researching the beaver trade and definitely taking artistic liberties, while also really trying to stay pretty true in the details to the period. It was such a little world we were building, I didn’t really have the feeling that I was confined in a genre at all.

Kelly Reichardt. / Photo by Jens Koch courtesy Berlinale

You work with outdoor landscapes a lot, particularly in Oregon. There are similarities with Meek’s Cutoff but also with Wendy and Lucy—the nomadic loners, the animal companion… What keeps you coming back to these places? I’ve actually worked outdoors much more than I’ve worked indoors. It’s really the indoors which was really fun to shoot here, because with Tony Gasparro, who was the production designer on First Cow, he and I were able to design these cottages and interiors and build around what [we] wanted to shoot, which is really great and a first for me. But outdoors is where I’m usually mostly shooting. It was recognizable to me at different points in the film that we were recalling Old Joy and Meek’s Cutoff and Wendy and Lucy. It was like the ‘Best Of’ of my movies.

There were some echoes of the other films for sure. It’s interesting to think how that’s happened. Because really, John’s novel The Half-Life is the first thing I ever read of his, and I wrote to him asking if he had any short stories—because I knew the novel was too big back in 2004—and he sent me Old Joy, the short story, which became the first thing we did together. But in between all that we’d been musing together for a decade, whenever there’s a lull in whatever we’re working on, we’d ask ourselves how we could do The Half-Life. It’s been cooking on the back burner for a long time, so maybe it’s bled into other films along the way.

Would you ever consider working in the city? I’m definitely ready to do something contemporary. It could be anything. I will just say on the practical side I do enjoy going away with a crew and feeling somewhat off the grid while making a film, separate from everyday life. When you say a city, I immediately think of New York. Never say never, but it’s just the practicalities of it… even if you can hire the crew you want, it doesn’t jump out at me as the most inviting thing.

In First Cow, your central characters are two men. Did you encounter different things in delving into male psychology after shaping so many rich female characters across your filmography? I don’t think of it in terms of gender, more in terms of personality. Maile Meloy’s short stories that I was working off for Certain Women focus on isolated women, a theme in some of her writing. But it’s really more about getting down to details on all levels of filmmaking for me. You have at some point the bigger picture, but I like to get down to the nitty gritty of things, in the story I’m telling and the people I’m making the story about and not worry about what gender anybody is. It’s more about who are these characters. A big draw to The Half-Life was that the Cookie character was so great. King Lu was totally fascinating as well. So it was more about keeping track of what they wanted, what they were to each other in the minute-by-minute, more even than in the big sense.

Lucy, the very good girl in Reichardt’s ‘Old Joy’.

Evie, the titular cow, is a terrific performer. What is your favorite animal performance on film? Oh god… Lucy! My own beautiful dog in Old Joy (2006), actually. No, of course there’s others. The animal that probably made the biggest impression on me as a kid was in Mike Nichols’ The Day of the Dolphin (1973). That dolphin was everything. You’re always afraid the animals are going to come to some demise. There’s [Vincente] Minnelli’s Home from the Hill (1960), which has the tragic hunting dog there. But it’s such a beautiful film. Whenever a film is named after the animal, you know it’s bad news for the animal.

Do you have a favorite film to teach your students? I’ve been teaching since 1998 so I wouldn’t call anything a favorite, but one film I’ve used in a sound class a lot is the opening scene of McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), where we’re just listening to the sound, and we turn off the image and the students describe the space. And so by doing that over the years I have René Auberjonois’ voice so firmly planted in my head, as he’s the bartender in the opening scene. I had the great pleasure of working with him on Certain Women and we wrote a little part for him [in] First Cow where he’s the cranky guy in town with the raven.

What is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? When I was a kid and I saw Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) on TV, and there was a scene on a beach at night that happened in black and white. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean in black and white—I grew up in Miami. It was the first time I became aware that people could do something as far as film went. I think when I was in art school, Stranger Than Paradise (1984) came out, and it probably opened the door to a lot of people’s minds—like a lot of people who saw the first band who played their own music and not cover tunes, like, ‘maybe I could tell my own story on film’. It made something seem possible, for myself anyway.

‘First Cow’ is in US cinemas now. An international release is yet to be confirmed. Kelly Reichardt’s films ‘First Cow’ and ‘Wendy and Lucy’ feature in Letterboxd’s Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films Directed by Women.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG141, once again abridged edition because What The Heck Is This Month on my side /o/

- Fun little thing: it was precisely as he was talking about Mikaele Salesa’s ties with the Institute (and the fact that some items in Artefact Storage were bought from him) that Jon spotted the spider in MAG038, leading to the discovery of the worm invasion and the  Prentiss attack overall. As usual when spiders are involved: was that a coincidence, or fucking not.

Anyway: it’s interesting how, between MAG115 (the statement that Salesa himself gave in 2007) and MAG141 (Floyd’s statement about his last year working under him), Salesa turned to sounding… more tragic, almost sympathetic? (I said “almost”: I’m not forgetting how easily he was throwing people overboard, or the fact he allowed people to get their hands on items that would hurt them or other people… although yeah, technically, he was leaving them to deal with what they had asked for.) With only MAG141, it sounded like he was someone stuck in Spooky, pursued by spooks and never able to escape them ever since he’d worked with Leitner:

(MAG141) FLOYD: He was tired. Everyone could tell. The man had been doing this job non-stop as long as any of us could remember, and he was clearly starting to feel it. Once found him pouring over an old photo album. The ship was there in the pictures, but a different captain, different crew. I asked him who they were, and he just looked at me, eyes sunken like hadn’t slept, and for a second I felt like he was seeing someone else, not me. But then he just shrugged. “Dead now,” he said, “doesn’t really matter.” […] This time, though… felt different. He was distant, quiet. His words, when he spoke to you at all, were blurred with alcohol and regret. Nobody knew what the plan was, so we just kept going.

(Can’t help but think about Leitner, Gertrude or Jon, here: being the sole survivor of their little circle, because everyone else… slowly got killed or sacrificed around them, whether they took an active part in their circle’s demise or just watched them as they all died off one by one…?)

- Small similarities, between Salesa’s own statement (MAG115) and Floyd’s description of him (MAG141)! Salesa was indeed the only one to deal with the merchandise during the journey, and installed the rule in 1999, and we know why:

(MAG115, Mikaele Salesa) “You see, in this game there are a few rules it’s a good idea to keep to if you’re looking to stay alive. One of my mine, is that only I take stock of the merchandise. You want to know how I came by this rule? I know you do.”

(MAG141) FLOYD: Way the others talked about it, he’d been at this for a long time, decades at least, and when I sailed with him it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing. He was the only one ever allowed in the cargo bay during a voyage.

And overall, if Floyd said that the crew trusted Salesa… it wasn’t one-sided, at all (especially when it involved throwing people overboard.):

(MAG115, Mikaele Salesa) “His movements were clumsy, like a drunk, and even at his best I’ve killed worse than Cook. He went down easy. That’s another good thing about having a crew you can trust. They tossed him overboard, and cleaned up without asking any sort of prying questions.”

(MAG141) FLOYD: He never lied to us about the sort of thing he was into. He didn’t exactly volunteer specifics, but we all knew what we were doing wasn’t legal, and we trusted him because he knew what he was doing. […] Salesa was a big guy, you know, but he never really made anything of it. He always used to say he needed a crew to follow him out of trust, not fear. But he didn’t have a problem using his size against Jésus when he found him. He threw the little rat overboard without a second’s hesitation, and there was nobody on that ship unhappy he did it. They’d all seen what could happen when someone else got in the cargo bay.

- We know that Salesa was one of Jurgen Leitner’s assistants for a time, but took off before his library was attacked (so before 1994), and that he had left with a copy of Leitner’s clients list, that he first dealt in “regular” illegal antiques before beginning to accept dealing with spooky items, out of greed, though avoiding books; he was already in the nautical Spook business in autumn 1999, when “Cook” grew fond of the Flesh-related meat grinder (MAG115). On January 19th 2000, Vincent Yang got imprisoned in an old (Buried-related) wooden box from Salesa’s stock, and was freed by Peter Lukas (MAG066). Salesa gave (“another”) written statement to Gertrude/the Institute/Elias? on January 4th 2007, after a Slaughter weapon bought from him caused damages, and Jon mentioned that some items from Artefact Storage have been purchased from him (MAG115). In the spring of 2010, he bought Neil Thompson’s “totem” syringe, which had likely been protecting Thompson from The Corruption and/or unleashed a Corruption curse on him when he sold it (MAG045). He tried to sell something to Paul Noriega in May 2011 (MAG014), contained in “a square wooden crate” by four men, although they didn’t settle on a price. He was the one to sell/give The Spiral pot from the Jiajing period to Andre Ramao in March 2012 (MAG038). He was transporting a (Spiral? Stranger?) rug when it attacked Gantulga in 2014, prompting him to apparently try to stop/flee from that life, taking on one last mission to would retrieve “an old camera with a broken lens” from an island (MAG141). Jon had already pinpointed that Salesa had apparently disappeared in 2014, back in season 2:

(MAG045) ARCHIVIST: […] I’ve been having a word with Rosie about whether we can make contact with him. Apparently, he hasn’t been seen for almost two years now, with rumours in the trade running through everything from “he had a quiet retirement” to “he’s trying to dodge a jail sentence” or even “he was shot dead in Columbia for stealing a priceless artefact from a drug lord”. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t look like he’ll be answering questions any time soon, though I have urged Rosie to keep trying.

Which was now kind of confirmed by Floyd Matharu, who worked with Salesa from 2011 to 2014 (MAG141) – according to his story, Salesa is presumably dead, although Floyd himself didn’t see anything directly and the most direct witness is already dead:

(MAG141) FLOYD: I didn’t hear the explosion myself. Dantez told me about it, as it had apparently woken him and a few others of the crew. A big explosion, they said, further into the port. […] We were still stood there, arguing amongst ourselves about what to do, when Captain Gaultier made his dramatic reappearance. His clothes were torn and his hair matted with blood. […] Some tried to ask the captain about Salesa, but he just shook his head. He wasn’t making much sense. We managed to gather the two of them had left early to deliver the artefact, but something had gone wrong. There had been an argument. They had been betrayed. Salesa was dead. The captain died soon after; the shrapnel trapped in his skull finally getting the better of him.

So, hum. Suspicious death, no body found, still not sure whether he’s still alive or not.

- Salesa was acquainted with the Institute, made a few phone calls, and officially died in an explosion… so had he made a deal with Gertrude? In which case, did she indeed betray him, or hide his escape? (It would seem… very “kind” from Gertrude, though.) Using him to retrieve a spooky item before discarding him sounds ruthless and not totally un-Gertrude, so…

Of course, big creature under the sea sounds like a Vast thing, so I wonder if the thing with the island was The Vast’s ritual attempt? We’re still missing… everything about that one (date, place, name, people involved). And was the camera lens related to them, or to Beholding, or to The Dark? Why was Jon interested in that statement in particular – because of the mystery of Salesa’s disappearance, or because of the island, or because of the camera lens…? We did have multiple occurrences of cameras or lenses being used around Dark activities:

(MAG009, Julia Montauk) “Asking him about it, my father told me he had been trying to learn photography, but didn’t trust developers not to ruin his films, as he’d apparently had problems before. I suggested he make himself a darkroom for developing them himself. […] There were no photos stored there. To this day I don’t know where my father kept his developed pictures. But there were about a dozen images hung out to dry. They’re still vivid in my mind – black and white and… washed in the deep red of the darkroom. Each photo was of a person’s face, close up and expressionless, their eyes were dull and glassy. I had never seen corpses before, so didn’t really understand what I was looking at. On each face were thick black lines that, formed these symbols that I didn’t recognise – but they were clearly drawn on the faces themselves, not just on the photographs. I don’t remember the symbols in any great detail, I’m afraid, just the faces that they were drawn onto, though they weren’t people I recognised. Nor did they match any of the photos the police showed me later.”

(MAG057, Carter Chilcott) “At some point on the first day, I remembered the camera. I focused my attention on it and began to scream, and shout for help in the vain hope that someone might be watching a feed of it and might be able to make contact. I cried, and begged, and pleaded with that camera for almost four hours, before I was suddenly struck by a terrifying thought. I floated over to it, and gently took hold of the cables that fed, out from the back into the wall. I followed them along, looking for where they connected to the power or broadcasting apparatus. What I found instead were a pair of neatly severed wires – transmitting nothing, powering nothing, connected… to nothing. The camera had never even been turned on, and had certainly not been transmitting anything to Earth. So what data had they been collecting? I still have no idea the answer to that question, but I did feel like I gained some… small sliver of control back after spending an… all-too-brief hour smashing up the camera.”

(MAG063, Erin Gallagher-Nelson) “It’s always been me and Luke Nelson – he was my wife’s brother, and did all the lighting for our shoots. At least, until he was… eaten by the darkness, last week. […] Then the scraping came again, now from the other direction and I sank to the floor, clutching my camera to my chest like some sort of protective talisman. It was silent, once again. […] Somewhere in my mind, I remembered… the flash of my camera, and my fingers instinctively flipped the switch. As I pressed the button, the screaming stopped with a wet snap, and for the worst moment of my life, an explosion of light shot through the darkness. […] It was the rector of St. Paul’s, and a small group of what I assumed to be parishioners. […] The rector was very understanding, though I wasn’t making much sense. He spoke soft words of reassurance, brought me out into the sick pale blue of dawn, and called an ambulance to look me over. I didn’t get his name, and it was only after I’d reached the hospital I realized he had taken my camera.”

And we know that a company involved in the Daedalus project, Optics Solutions Ltd, was based in Ny-Ålesund and specialised in cameras. It’s one of the numerous companies reportedly tied to The Dark, along with Outer Bay Shipping and D.K.N. Systems:

(MAG025) ARCHIVIST: Also of note, the words “Ny Alesund”. I don’t know for sure if Mr. Bilham remembered them correctly, but Tim pointed out that Ny-Ålesund is actually a small town in Norway. In fact, except for research installations, it is the most northerly human settlement on Earth, located at a latitude of North 78°55′30″. It is a company town, owned and operated by Outer Bay, but what it has to do with Mr. Bilham’s account is anyone’s guess. Assuming it isn’t all… coincidence. That far north… during the winter… nights can last for a very long time… Mm.

(MAG057) ARCHIVIST: Tim was, however, able to get a list of the businesses involved in the venture. Three names stand out: “Pinnacle Aerospace”, majority owned by the Fairchild family; a large private investment by Nathaniel Lukas; and “Optics Solutions Ltd”, a relatively benign-seeming company manufacturing specialist cameras for research and industrial application, who are nonetheless notable for having their business address listed as being in Ny-Ålesund, in Norway.

(MAG073) BASIRA: The building was in an industrial complex up in Harringay. It was a two storey brick building, with a weathered sign claiming it belonged to “Outer Bay Shipping”. […] ARCHIVIST: I can’t help but feel I’ve got the last chapter of a story and I… don’t even know the title. At least I hope it’s the last chapter. I still can’t find much about the company “Outer Bay Shipping”. Looks like a shell corporation, but tracking corporate ownership is not something I’m skilled at.

(MAG106, Jan Kilbride) “[Manuela Dominguez’s] research was kept entirely separate from mine, and while we spent plenty of time together, I never did figure out exactly what it was. Something to do with lasers, I think. […] She said she’d felt the station shake, bu–ut when I pressed, she… claimed she hadn’t heard anything. Her eyes were red and I noticed for the first time that the tips of her fingers were burned.”

(MAG109) JULIA: Sometimes, a start-up would make it big, but usually it was the inevitable bankruptcy that moved them out. All except “D.K.N. Systems”. I never really figured out what it was they were meant to be doing; something full of meaningless buzzwords, like “business networks” or “media solutions”. Thinking about it, it might actually have been “Business media network solutions.” Point is, there didn’t seem to be anything suspicious about them. At least not at first. […] There was only one of them that ever spoke – at least to me. A young guy called [Vardan Darvish]. He seemed to be the manager, at least as much as there was any clear structure. And unlike his colleagues, he seemed happy, almost eager, to talk. […] TREVOR: I’d been tracking Darvish for a good few weeks by then. There’d been a couple of homeless I knew gone missing around Parrs Wood, where I were keeping back then. […] Third night, I spotted him at work, taking a delivery. It were a big truck for some company called “Outer Bay”. I tried to follow them up since, but didn’t find much.

So, mmmm. Lot of lenses, and still the mystery of… Robert Montauk’s photographs.

- In the same way, there is the year of Salesa’s death/disappearance… Because 2014 (and 2015) were definitely activity-heavy for The Dark: in MAG141, Salesa was revealed to have officially “died” in 2014, after retrieving the camera lens. In MAG063, Erin Gallagher-Nelson and Luke Nelson had an encounter with creatures(or followers?) of the Dark underneath St. Paul’s Church, on the night between March 25th and 26th 2014. In MAG135, Manuela Dominguez left her statement on July 14th 2014, announcing that The Dark and Maxwell Rayner were ready for their ritual and challenging Gertrude to stop them. In MAG025, Mark Bilham recounted the events at the Hither Green Dissenters Chapel, involving followers from the People’s Church of the Divine Host on March 11th 2015, and Jon added that a scream was heard on the evening of May 15th 2015 (the day Gertrude passed away according to the “official file”, although in MAG040 Elias reported the blood in Gertrude’s office and her disappearance to have occurred on March 15th).

So whether there is actually a direct connection or not, it’s still a bit suspicious that Salesa disappeared in the timeframe he did…

(- Thinking again about how both Jon and Tim had specifically mentioned that they had watched what was happening during their first spooky encounter, and how they both ended up in the Institute and Beheld, it’s interesting to note that Floyd:

(MAG141) FLOYD: Something began to break the surface as I realised the deep rumble was no longer the thunder, and I closed my eyes and fell to the deck, gripping the rail with all my might as a wave hit us from behind, propelling us away from it.

… precisely closed his eyes. Not everyone would watch, as their childhood bully is snatched by Mr. Spider, or as their brother or what’s left of his skin is played with again.)

- Interestingly, Basira had said that she would book the trip, and now it turns out that Jon changed their plans?

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: So what’s the plan? BASIRA: I’m getting us passage on a boat heading up there. ARCHIVIST: … Right.

(MAG141) BASIRA: What the hell was that?! ARCHIVIST: He had information about Salesa. I thought it would help. BASIRA: Is that why you were so keen on this ship? ARCHIVIST: I wasn’t sure; just had a hunch there was something here. BASIRA: And what? You thought the best way to find it was by… slurping it out of his brain?

… So it looks like Jon now has a radar for people with spooky stories. To quote Tim in MAG114: “Fan–tastic”.

- AND ONCE AGAIN… about how Jon Behaved and… compelled someone to do things (to give his statement, then to leave and get some rest):

(MAG141) BASIRA: Jon, I’m not sure about this. ARCHIVIST: I am. Tell me what happened. [STATIC INCREASES] FLOYD: W–what…? What is this? ARCHIVIST: Whenever you’re ready. FLOYD: A–a–alright. [STATIC DECREASES] … Sure… [SILENCE] He… he–he w–was a good boss, you know?

[…] ARCHIVIST: It’s alright, Floyd. You just… [STATIC INCREASES] need a break! FLOYD: … Yeah. [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES] Sure. [RINGING FOOTSTEPS DEPART]

… I’m just baffled about how Web Jon sounded here?! Especially since MAG134 (with Peter making the distinction between The End being passive, and The Extinction being active), I’ve been wondering about the possibility that Beholding and Web were a bit like that initially, having emerged from the same “shade” (Beholding passive/Web active), or on the contrary that they might be merging now with the rise of technology and surveillance society… And once again, mMMMMMmmm, it’s. Definitely strange. There is also the fact that The Web sent Oliver to wake up Jon (supposedly in order to push him to choose to become a Beholding avatar?!); the fact that Jon is unable to tell the details of his coma (he knows he made a “choice”, to become inhuman in order to avoid dying, but hasn’t been able to provide more specifics), and there is his childhood connection with The Web…

Though: there was static, too, when Elias hired Melanie in MAG084, specifically when he asked her whether she wanted to work in the Archives. So. That’s another kind-of similarity between what Elias did, and what Jon is currently doing. (Or is it that, like Elias, Jon is now able to put thoughts in someone’s mind, and that’s what he did to Floyd? But even that sounds awfully Web, if it’s about getting someone to do something by getting into their head… Once again, what the heck is happening re:Spiders at the Institute and around Beholding agents…)

- ;; I’m especially SAD about what happened to Floyd since… he specifically wanted to stop thinking about what had happened to him. And here he is.

(MAG141) FLOYD: My last voyage with him was the one that killed him. [Four] years ago; I still have nightmares sometimes. Tried to escape it, but some things follow you no matter where you go. A smarter person might have stayed off the water, but this job, it’s all I’ve ever really known. So here we are. […] I’ve gone over that memory so many times, trying to think what I might have missed, but even now, whenever I think of it, it just looked like an old camera with a broken lens. […] And I have tried, ever since then, to leave those memories behind me.

Doomed to get the nightmares.

Curiously, Lucia had also mentioned to Gertrude that she was already having nightmares – and Gertrude knew she would get them too.

(MAG130) LUCIA: H… uh. Will it help? GERTRUDE: I’m sorry? LUCIA: Telling my story. To you. Will, will it help with the nightmares? GERTRUDE: If that’s your primary goal, my dear, I would suggest you speak to a qualified counsellor. We can suggest one, if you like; that said, I do believe most people find the process of giving a statement to be rather… mm, cathartic. And whatever nightmares your experience has left you with, I’m sure they won’t be bothering you much longer. […] GERTRUDE: Sad about the loss of history but Miss Wright didn’t seem to think the old Gnostic church got many visitors anyway. I’m honestly impressed she had the strength to get through it, even if she does seem to have been… deeply affected by it. Shame about the dreams; I would avoid them if I could.

So does someone need to have nightmares for them to be “given” to the Archivist? Or are they different things, “normal” nightmares due to trauma vs. spooky nightmares due to the Archivist extorting the statement from someone?

- Overlook of season 4, time-wise:

MAG121 (+MAG122?): February 15th 2018 MAG123: February 17th (“Two days out of a coma, and I’m already tired.”) MAG124: February 24th~ (“It’s been a week and… Melanie’s attitude towards me hasn’t softened.”) MAG125: ? MAG126: ? MAG127: ? MAG128: 3rd March MAG129: ? MAG130: 17th~ March (Gertrude recording; “It’s been two weeks since I heard from Basira”) MAG131: 20th March MAG132: 24th March (given that Jon has been in the coffin for three days, either 21 to 24th, or 24 to 27th?) MAG133: ? MAG134: ? (Martin, chronologically after the coffin things) MAG135: ? MAG136: at the very least two weeks after MAG132 (since Jon hasn’t seen Daisy in his dreams “for the last couple of weeks”) MAG137: ? (Gertrude recording) MAG138: ? (Martin) MAG139: ? MAG140: one day after MAG139; end of May 2018 (“Summer solstice is the 21st of June. So we leave in a fortnight, and should arrive about a week before.”) MAG141: June 11th 2018 (two days before arrival)

… So: Jon’s average rhythm tends to be around one statement a week, and it was… more intense before the coffin, and then it just slowed the heeeck up. After MAG132, from March 24th to June 11th excluded (MAG141), he only recorded five statements, so roughly one every other week… and he hadn’t recorded one for 15+ days between MAG140 and MAG141, when he just… jumped on Floyd.

(And surely, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to not have packed written statements…? So why didn’t he record any in the timelapse…?)

- Aaaaand I’m especially horrified by the fact that:

(MAG141) ARCHIVIST: He didn’t exactly seem inclined to volunteer the information. Besides, you said I needed to be ready for Ny-Ålesund. BASIRA: [SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: “Full power”, I believe were your words. The statement helped.

… is the same kind of logic we had seen with Manuela talking about her “Fear Battery” (MAG135). (And yeah, Basira also didn’t seem to be seasick anymore after the statement. Which could be due to the adrenalin/revulsion rush or… because Beholding.)

- Alright, so. The biggest thing for me was clearly Jon in this episode. As in “What the hell, Jon” (and/or “What the hell is happening”).

I… have a lot of trouble taking Jon’s behaviour in this episode at Face Value; and I don’t know if I can still hold on with the wishful thinking that it’s not as bad as it looked, or if… it is like That, and kind of “over” for Jon. At the very least, Basira seemed scandalised so we might get more insight into Jon’s behaviour, whether it’s a call-out or special measures taken to shackle him or someone clearly expressing that “Jon, no”. He was… flat. Almost casual. Just barely softer at some points, but mostly Elias-sounding (really reminding me of how Elias had treated Melanie in MAG106: fake concern and softness and benevolence, offering her the afternoon off when he had been the one to wreck her). And the thing that that threw me off the most wasn’t so much what Jon did, but how… casual he was about the whole thing, without berating himself or having some moral dilemma about it afterwards…? As if it was a logical and natural thing to do…?

See: Jon behaved in this episode the way I feared he would be when he would wake up from his coma – taking what he needs, without caring much about the fear and pain he spreads, as long as it feeds him/feeds what feeds him. And then, season 4 rolled out, and it wasn’t the case at all! Jon expressed, multiple times, that although he was aware of being different, he was still feeling many things: he even expressed empathy for victims and disdains for the spooks that terrorise them…

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: No notes or follow-up here that I can see, just… [SIGH] It looks like the statement came in just after Gertrude disappeared. Another gap. And whoever took it didn’t do any follow-up, just… filed it away. I may be the first person to actually read it, so… sorry Angie, I suppose.

(MAG124) ARCHIVIST: Simon Fairchild is one of the… recurrent figures that I think disquiets me the most. Not simply for what he does, the endless spaces of highs or depths to which he’s so quick to condemn his victims, but… the joy he seems to take in doing so. And I don’t think there is much to this tale beyond that: an evil man tormenting and killing simply for his own pleasure, and to feed the power that sustains him.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: A “Great Twisting”, that Gertrude stopped at the cost of a single life. … I thought… moving away from my humanity would have made that seem more acceptable. That sort of sacrifice… but it just makes me sad…

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: Hm. “Jonah Magnus”. I’ve never really given much thought to him. Not nearly as much as I should have. I suppose I had always hoped there was a chance he was… innocent, in all this. I know, I know! But I had… [EXHALE] I had just… hoped that maybe the founding of the Institute was in earnest. And not simply the foundation stone for all the terrible things that have happened here. … But no. Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. You’re working for someone… really bad! MARTIN: Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but it’s no… worse than working for something really bad, so… ARCHIVIST: At least, The Eye hasn’t gone after our own. Lukas has vanished two people!

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: With one or two notable exceptions, the only statements the Institute receives are those where the witness has… successfully escaped whatever terrible place or being has marked them for a victim. … I wonder how many don’t make it out. How many of those shapes in the water were once just like Mr. Shakya. Hm. Or perhaps I shouldn’t wonder. [HUFF] Even as I say it, I can feel the knowledge, pushing in my mind. Eager to find a way in. But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. … I don’t want to see. … No more than I wanted to see how Gertrude stopped The Buried and their ritual, but that came to me as well. [HUFF] They called it “Sunken Sky”! And she calculated, correctly, that casting a void-touched body down The Pit at the right time would be enough to disrupt it. Something she found in… Jan Kilbride. … But Gertrude also realized that the body need not be alive. Or in one piece. She thought it was a mercy. It wasn’t.

(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: I… heard someone. He was begging for me to save him. Said he couldn’t breathe. … I can barely breathe. I couldn’t find him. But I am… n–not here for him. I don’t even know him. I can’t… I can’t see… anything here… for all this… this place closes around me, I… I feel adrift. Like nothing can get through the dirt, and the muck, and–

(MAG135) ARCHIVIST: Is locking [the coffin] up the right thing to do? There are other people in there. And Daisy and I got out, but– … No, I, uh… I can’t think about that. Even if I could somehow be sure of recreating our escape, I–I can’t save everyone that’s been taken. I–It’s not my job to try, I– And I can’t spend another three days in there, I just… I need to let it go.

He was sad and horrified about Jan Kilbride; he didn’t sound onboard with Gertrude’s methods at all. He expressed that he was feeling so, so many doubts, about himself and what he had to do:

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: They can be hard, though, sometimes, oth–other people… feelings. I’m… I’m… I’m trying to focus. Trying to make sure I’m the same me as before, but… how can anyone really remember that? How do you know… you’re the same person that went to sleep…? […] BASIRA: Me first. What are you? ARCHIVIST: … Honestly… I don’t know. I don’t feel… inhuman, or… … I want to say I’m the same. But I don’t… really know if that’s true. I know I’m different. I feel… more real, somehow. BASIRA: So what does that actually mean? ARCHIVIST: Probably nothing good.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: [STATIC] Look, I don’t know, Basira. I hope I’m still human, but it… but it’s seeming more and more unlikely. BASIRA: … I didn’t ask. ARCHIVIST: No, I suppose you didn’t. […] I’m sorry Basira, I–I will try to keep anything I learn about you to myself. My priorities haven’t changed; I hope you can believe that. [SIGH] I’m still on your side. You can trust me.

(MAG131) HELEN: Not this again. I’m not “wearing” anything, Archivist. I am at least as much Helen Richardson as you are the Jonathan Sims that first joined this institute. Things change. People change. It happens. ARCHIVIST: … We’re not “people”, though, are we? Not anymore. HELEN: Names, categories… it’s all so important to you, isn’t it? You do know none of it is actually real. It’s all just… meaningless boxes.

(MAG132) DAISY: Realised what was happening then. Realised you weren’t human. Needed to die, as soon as it was safe. Never mind Elias and his… insurance. ARCHIVIST: And now? DAISY: Don’t know. I miss dreaming. Y–you don’t sleep… down here. ARCHIVIST: Daisy… you should know I’m… If I wasn’t human before, I’m, uh… I’m even less now. DAISY: Yeah. Well. At the moment, I don’t care…

He understood people’s stance and wariness towards him. He highlighted that he was still feeling fear, sadness, concern. We got glints of guilt, of melancholy:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: Melanie, Melanie: it’s… it’s me. MELANIE: Oh! Okay, so what, “Hi Jon, how are you, get anyone killed lately?” ARCHIVIST: … I… MELANIE: Wipe that look off your face. Like you’re not the reason all of this is happening. Like you’re any better than– ARCHIVIST: [MESSY STUTTERING] MELANIE: –than him! ARCHIVIST: Basira said Elias was gone!

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: I have no theories on it, no… no sudden insights. [SIGH] I wish I could talk it through with Martin. … Or Tim. [SHORT SAD CHUCKLE] Or Sasha. But we never really did that, did we…? … Everything’s changed. … [SIGH] Two days out of a coma, and I’m already tired.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: I’ve been… trying to check on Melanie’s condition. She refuses to see me – understandably, I–I suppose, and Basira has been looking after her. [SIGH] It hurts, of course, but… [SIGH] I really hope getting that bullet out of her helps. At least… stops it from getting any worse. I can’t have been too late again.

(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: Wish me luck…! … Although I suppose if you’re hearing this, then I… I didn’t have any. I don’t know. I’m… I’m scared. [SHORT CHUCKLE] When does the fear go away…? A–anyway, I–I’m sorry. You too, Basira, if you’re hearing this. I know you’d… stop me. You’d be right to, but… But if this goes wrong, all you lose is– …  I’m not risking anyone else. And I know– … I–I think… I can get her out.

(MAG135) ARCHIVIST: […] they can’t wait until they don’t have to talk to me anymore. Can’t honestly say I blame them, none of this is easy. Everyone’s just trying to get through as best they can. Living one day at a time. [SIGH] But I can’t afford to be just living one day at a time, I need… a plan. But I don’t even know what I’m trying to achieve… And no one… no one wants to tell me.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] I don’t feel like I’m exactly in the best place to judge the… intersection [CHUCKLE] between free will and humanity. Still trying to figure that out myself. […] DAISY: You need to stop swanning around, being all sad. ARCHIVIST: I’m, I’m not “swanning around”– DAISY: “Boo-hoo, I’m so alone and a monster!” ARCHIVIST: I am alone, Martin is– DAISY: Busy. doing. paperwork. Not like he’s dead. Beside, he’s not the only other person here, you know. There’s me; Melanie; Basira– ARCHIVIST: Traumatised; traumatised; and paranoid, because of me. DAISY: Get over yourself! You’re always talking about choices – we all made ours.

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: Why were we chosen? Agnes was created – crafted with a specific purpose so finely tuned that even a grain of uncertainty threatened the entirety of her being. [CHORTLING] But I’m so full of doubt it feels like there’s no room for anything else, and… I’m sure Martin is the same…! Is there “destiny” here? B–bloodlines and… prophecies, or did we just… stumble into this? Maybe we’re the opposite of Agnes; maybe our doubts are exactly what we need. I–if that’s the case, I’m a… an amazing chosen one. … [LONG EXHALE] Don’t know how that would work, though. … [SIGH] I’m just worried about Martin. … Christ… Every other Avatar gets to have their feelings… burned right out of them, but me? I’ve… just got to sit in mine.

And it’s been a constant throughout season 4! Nothing “bad” recently happened to sharpen him or to make him change his mind like this! The last time he went into a tangent about, precisely, his still having to bear all these “feelings” was two episodes ago! And nothing life-threatening happened to the assistants on his watch, no near-death accident which could have made him… change his mind and adopt that “the end justifies the means” attitude that he was strangely deadpan about in MAG141. Jon knows what the dreams do. When he apparently cracked the code, he seemed to been keen on avoiding further cases:

(MAG113) ARCHIVIST: I’m not too concerned, to be honest, my dreams are, uh… well, let’s just say I don’t think they’re going be letting anyone else in any time soon.

(MAG115, Mikaele Salesa) “So I suppose if it’s a statement you’re wanting… it’s no inconvenience to me. I don’t sleep well anyway.”

(MAG132) DAISY: I realized you were in my dreams. Reliving t… this. The coffin. You were there. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. DAISY: Didn’t think it was real. Not really… Just my mind putting you there, because I h–hated you but… no.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: And you’re not… worried about… DAISY: Basira’s trapped here. So are you. Not like I can be going anywhere anyway. ARCHIVIST: … I suppose not. So… no more dreams. DAISY: Not of you and your weird eyes. Just the coffin. ARCHIVIST: Is that better…? DAISY: ’T’s mine. ARCHIVIST: … right.

It’s not just nightmares for the victims – it’s a loss of control, it’s something that could potentially wreck their lives and reduce their lifespan. It’s not just “a few bad dreams”:

(MAG141) BASIRA: And now he’s going to see you in his dreams as he relives that for the rest of his life! ARCHIVIST: [INHALE SHARPLY] BASIRA: Because… because a tape recorder told you to do it?! ARCHIVIST: Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway: you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. [SILENCE] You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams?

True, Jon has already taken live-statements in season 4, but under specific circumstances: he neutralized Breekon when he was ready to fight with Basira (MAG128), and took Jared’s statement to know more about the fact that his attack on the Institute had been orchestrated by someone else, as part of a deal offered by Jared (MAG131). Both cases were known multiple murderers and in urgent situations (both Breekon and Jared were capable of wrecking him) – and he even wrote down Breekon’s statement rather than speaking it outright. It had… nothing to do with forcing someone who, all right, had dealt in illegal business in the past but hadn’t killed anyone as far as we know and wasn’t a spook himself, to give a story that he was adamant to forget about! It’s not even a natural evolution (small steps would require some urgency or no other option), it’s going from 1 to 10 with no apparent incentive…? Jon had just checked that they still had two days on the boat. He could have chosen the (still very morally reprehensible) option to blackmail the guy through compulsion (like he did with Kurt in MAG103), in order to get his written statement…? There were other options than this!

So what is happening? Because I trust Jonny to destroy me emotionally, yes, but this was… so abrupt, so I still have trouble taking it at face value, I still feel like there must be something happening to explain the complete turn-over that Jon did between MAG140 and MAG141. Though yeah, I guess that it would also be a real tragedy (I find this infinitely sad, depowering and tragic so – it’s doing its job if it’s the case), but after so many talks about “choices” in season 4, and about how, maybe, the spooks we had met so far were… mostly Very Bad People to begin with, or people easily convinced to kill others if it would mean surviving themselves…

(MAG121) OLIVER: The thing is, Jon, right now, you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time; but it’s trapping you here. You are not quite human enough to die, but – still too human to survive. You’re… balanced on an edge, where The End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape Him. I made a choice. We all made choices. […] Make your choice, Jon.

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: In many ways, The Slaughter fascinates me. There seems to be, in all cases, a question at its heart about… control. Is it a mindless dance, dragging participants along by the beat of a drum or… is there a kernel of will in there, a lucidity and deliberateness to the random fury and violence? I suppose that’s the question with so much of “violence”, “war”: how much are you really in command of yourself or of others? I’m not sure what scares me more: the idea that deep down, everyone is in complete control of their actions, that everything is, on some level, intentional; or that ultimately, we don’t have any control of ourselves at all, and the rest is just… rationalisation.

(MAG131) MELANIE: And then, one day, I suddenly have this thing that takes all that rage, and it holds it. Tells me it’s right. That it’s me. It didn’t stay in my leg because of some Ghostly Masterplan; it stayed… because I wanted it.

(MAG132) DAISY: I don’t want t–to be a s–sadistic predator again… I–I don’t want to… hobble around, like some pathetic, wounded prey either… I don’t know which would be worse. And I’m sc–scared, now, that I’ll never get the choice… ARCHIVIST: One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. […] DAISY: Get over yourself! You’re always talking about choices – we all made ours.

… we would reach the conclusion that… no, the atrocities of the past will constantly repeat themselves; that Jon wasn’t able to learn enough from his mistakes and Gertrude’s; that in the end, Tim was right in MAG114 when he spat out that Jon “couldn’t not” because these spooks are pure instinct and you can’t do anything to refrain them, cue Jon now being unable to not jump on anyone with a Spooky Story, and finding it natural to doom them to get nightmares about it for the rest of their lives, without finding it problematic at all nor expressing any internal conflict…?

I’m not ready to give up on Jon as character-person (someone struggling, someone trying). If the Jon from MAG141 is What He Is Now and we’re getting that until the end of the season/series… I’m not ready ;; He would still be interesting to me as a character-character but I couldn’t empathise or sympathise with him much anymore if… he casually accepts to hurt people without sadness nor regret. So: I might be grasping at straws, I might be uselessly hoping, but… I don’t want this to be the end of it? Not yet? So, multiple possibilities that I am thinking about regarding this whole situation:

* The major difference with the rest of season 4 so far (except for MAG121 and MAG122) was that Jon wasn’t inside of the Institute/in the Archives. It could be possible that in Beholding’s temple, he is more “in control” of himself (and able to avoid casually hurting people if it serves him). Though: he was outside of the Institute in MAG122 and didn’t jump on Basira (who had More Spooky Stories, since she had experienced Peter Lukas’s reign over the Institute and The Flesh attack while Jon in the coma) nor Georgie (who had just met Oliver).

* Drinking at the Lonely Bar at the end of MAG139 actually messed Jon up more than he was aware and he was submerged without realising that he had “drowned”. Though: he… acted normal-Jon in MAG140 – wise-cracking, sighing a lot, being awkward and critical and… not glad about the whole necessity of the trip.

* This one feels more akin to wishful thinking to me than something actually likely, but orz I wanna hope and have faith in Jon, gdi.

Jon sounded… oddly focused on Basira after taking that statement – as if… making a point. He kind of cross-checked everything Basira expected from him: just answering to the call of a tape recorder:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: And we’ve got an audience. Perfect. I thought you said you decided to throw them all out. BASIRA: Yup. And I did. And here’s another one. ARCHIVIST: Maybe it’s hungry. BASIRA: Seriously? ARCHIVIST: I mean, I did have a statement I was planning to record.

(MAG141) BASIRA: Yeah, I heard. ‘anks. … What? ARCHIVIST: The tape recorder. BASIRA: [INHALE] Get ready. Any idea what’s coming? [QUICK FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: N–no, I’m… No, I–I don’t think that’s it. BASIRA: It’s not recording for nothing. ARCHIVIST: No, I… [STATIC RISING]… I think… [LOUDER] Excuse me? […] BASIRA: And now he’s going to see you in his dreams as he relives that for the rest of his life! ARCHIVIST: [INHALE SHARPLY] BASIRA: Because… because a tape recorder told you to do it?!

and being unable to not answer to the Call of knowledge and actively pursue it:

(MAG127) BASIRA: Don’t snoop in my head. ARCHIVIST: I’m not “snooping”, I’m not looking. That’s not… how this works.

(MAG128) BASIRA: Keep it safe, I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up. ARCHIVIST: Sorry…?! BASIRA: You heard me. Don’t ask about them, and don’t know about them either. ARCHIVIST: I can’t exactly control that! BASIRA: Learn.

(MAG141) ARCHIVIST: I had to know. Basira. BASIRA: It wasn’t right. ARCHIVIST: … You could have stopped me. [SILENCE] But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you…? [SILENCE] [INHALE] Get some rest. Two days yet.

(And Jon, as far as we know, had managed to learn? Unless he hid it from us, he still doesn’t know that her intel was Elias, still doesn’t know what she was doing apart from what she told him. He also stopped meeting Martin when Martin told him to stop “finding” him. True, Jon tried to use his powers to see what The Dark was doing, and what Peter’s plans were, but… he was more in control, trying to use instead of being used, and it was to protect people!)

And Jon also reversed the dynamic by reminding Basira that she had elected Gertrude as role model, and he was merely behaving like she would have, ruthless methods included:

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: You were hoping for a defender. BASIRA: I was hoping for someone I can trust to share the load. Because right now, it’s all on me. ARCHIVIST: [EXHALES, SLOW] It doesn’t have to be. BASIRA: Hm. ARCHIVIST: You’re not happy she is back. BASIRA: I didn’t say that, Jon. I would never abandon Daisy and, having her back is… [SIGH] But right now, she’s dead weight. And I need to be able to travel light. ARCHIVIST: … You’re starting to sound like Gertrude. BASIRA: Good. As far as I can see, Gertrude Robinson was the most effective person in this place.

(MAG141) ARCHIVIST: Anyway, you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. [SILENCE] You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA: … No. ARCHIVIST: No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the costs. BASIRA: But I thought you did.

And it seems so… pointed? So orientated? So “look at me being the monster you needed”?

So I wonder (/probably: hope) if… Jon wasn’t mainly trying to disgust Basira, with this. Playing a role, and keeping calm and quiet because he needed for the lesson to sink in. Season 4 has been about him more or less saving the assistants: removing Melanie’s bullet; getting Daisy back. Martin is still inaccessible and a sore spot. He’s tried to reason with Basira, and she deflected every time, even when he capitulated and offered for her to “use” him even if she still didn’t want to trust him. He is making himself usable here, but also… making himself loathable. And I’m wondering if this might be the way he has found to try to “save” her, too, by making her realise that the system she wants to adopt is messed up, and disgusting, and not… very “her” either.

* Not incompatible with the above, there is technically another option, when Basira told Jon that Floyd would now get plagued with nightmares:

(MAG141) BASIRA: And now he’s going to see you in his dreams as he relives that for the rest of his life!

… the other option is: “for the rest of Jon’s life”.

Because another thing in season 4 so far has been Jon’s research on rituals: how Gertrude dealt with some, how some others cancelled themselves or failed independently from Gertrude (for example, in MAG135, “I’ll keep digging. If there is another ritual upcoming, I’ll need all the information I can get on it.”). The fact that Beholding still has its chance has been looming since even before Jon’s return to the Institute, and he went back to that notion much later, with restlessness – it’s absolutely possible that, with his digging about rituals, Jon has been trying to find something that could help prevent Beholding’s:

(MAG123) BASIRA: [SIGH] Alright. Best I can understand it, Beholding, or The Eye or… whatever you want to call it, we’re one of the only powers that hasn’t actually taken a shot at our ritual. Yet. And everything out there knows it. ARCHIVIST: … No, I mean, we… we can’t be the only ones, surely? BASIRA: I don’t know. Probably not. But we made a big noise with The Unknowing and… other stuff, and… now they’ve taken notice.

(MAG137) ARCHIVIST: Ever since I crawled out of that damn coffin, I feel like I’ve been… adrift. Filling in blanks and diving into History, but only…! [EXASPERATED SIGH] The breadcrumbs I’m finding are… stale. Old. … What the hell is The Watcher’s Crown? So far the only mention of it I’ve had is from Gerry, and he didn’t seem to know much about what it actually meant. [PAUSE] And he’s gone now. But if it is the grand ritual of Beholding, then I– … I mean… I need to know about it. Right…? I feel like I’m on a deadline, like I’m running out of time somehow – and I don’t even know where to go! What to look for, o–or… [EXHALE] Just casting around blindly for more clues to just… drop into my lap.

Gertrude’s methods mostly consisted in using either explosives or the Fears’s antitheticals – Vast-touched Jan Kilbride neutralised The Buried, and she had planned for a Beholding-touched person to be the one activating the explosive during The Unknowing:

(MAG137) GERTRUDE: To be sure, I–I think the detonation would need to happen from within The Unknowing, while it was going on. Gerard may have a connection to The Eye, but I’m not convinced it will be enough. And I will admit I’ve grown… fond of the boy.

… which ended up happening with Tim. And, right before Basira came in with Flamsteed’s statement, Jon read how… Agnes had asked her own followers to hang her, officially to allow their cult another chance soon – and possibly, given Jack Barnabas’s statement and Agnes’s melancholia about how she hadn’t chosen this life… to plainly make sure that their ritual wouldn’t happen? And Jon did confess to Daisy that he wasn’t sure that he had been right to choose to “become” something else, that he felt like a potential danger, and that he was actively willing to sacrifice his life if it meant saving others:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I… I don’t know if I made the right decision; I–I’m stronger now, tougher, I can… … If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever… I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else so, if I can maybe stop that happening, and [DRY CHUCKLE] the only danger is to me, I– I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario… the universe loses another monster. DAISY: That’s messed up. ARCHIVIST: [LOW SELF-DEPRECATIVE DRY LAUGHTER] … Yeah. I suppose it is. DAISY: Did you know the coffin wouldn’t kill you? ARCHIVIST: I– guess I thought imprisonment wouldn’t… wouldn’t be as bad as it was. And it’s a lot easier to make that choice than it is to actually… endure the result. You might have noticed when I was in there with you, I… I had regrets. DAISY: Yeah. I remember. ARCHIVIST: Plus, I thought… [PAUSE] W– [SIGH] Well, I didn’t know what being down there had done to you. DAISY: You thought I was gonna kill you? ARCHIVIST: It was a possibility. DAISY: Guess so.

… so I wonder if Jon isn’t trying… to make Basira disgusted enough with him for her to be ready to sacrifice him when they fight against The Dark, because that would be his logical conclusion to both neutralise it and Beholding in one go, without having to lose anyone else…? He said that Melanie has been doing better; that Daisy and Basira seemed a bit warmer. Martin has cut him out. From Jon’s perspective, he probably doesn’t have a lot to come back for…?

(Or yes, maybe I’m just in denial. SHHHHH.)

Title for MAG142 is out, and MMMMMM does it sound like a Beholding title?! (So not necessarily Jon&Basira-related; could be back to Martin at the Institute. Poor Martin.) Potentially Hunt, I guess, too??

And Anil teases Things and I don’t know if I can get my hopes up for Julia&Trevor………….. because The Dark is Julia’s family story, and she became a Hunter to survive them… (And OOOPS, remember how Trevor had described Darvish in MAG109? “Point is, soon as I saw [Darvish], I knew he were there one I were after. There was a smell to him. Something dark and sick, rolling off him in waves. [SCOFF] Sure, he didn’t smell like a vampire, but he smelt like something that weren’t meant to be in this world. So, I reckoned I best help him out of it!” … I wonder if another-Hunter-than-Daisy would react in front of Jon, nowadays…)

[culturejunkies]

Something BIG is probably going to happen this weekend with Spider-Man and Disney

By Kenshiro

Of course, much like everyone else, I was very caught off-guard by the announcement that Spider-Man’s future in the MCU was in danger. Coming off the heels of Spider-Man: Far From Home making more money than any Sony/Columbia Pictures film EVER, this reeked of hilariously terrible timing on both Disney and Sony’s part. Of course, I read the Deadline report concerning the deal falling apart over money. I also read the io9 follow-up piece stating that all hope wasn’t loss. We saw Sony spin this to The Hollywood Reporter that Disney was completely at fault, seen Sony’s stock plummet the very next day, read Twitter feeds, watched YouTube videos…the whole internet was consumed with all things Spider-Man!

Yet the more I thought about things, the more convinced I became that we’re being subjected to possibly the greatest, orchestrated PR stunt in modern history. It’s become pretty clear to me that both Disney and Sony are working together to pull off a huge joint announcement at D23 Entertainment Expo which just so happens to be going on this weekend!

The Stars Themselves Took To Social Media

The first sign I had of things being off with this whole thing, was the reactions of the stars of the MCU. The first shot across the bow came from Hawkeye himself, Jeremy Renner, who made a post to his social media about wanting Spider-Man back, with the bow and arrow emoji, along with the very suspicious #congrats. First of all, what’s he congratulating? A huge new deal? Could be that certainly, but isn’t it more than a little bit ironic that the actor known for portraying the sharpshooting Hawkeye is firing the first shot at Sony on social media?

View this post on Instagram

Hey @sonypictures we want Spider-Man back to @therealstanlee and @marvel please, thank you #congrats #spidermanrocks #🏹 #please

A post shared by Jeremy Renner (@renner4real) on Aug 20, 2019 at 7:16pm PDT

Next, came the response from Spidey himself, Tom Holland, who recently celebrated getting a new whip on his Instagram, but followed that up by UNFOLLOWING Sony on social media. Petty, sure, but again these are professional actors. Petty behavior, especially when it could affect their overall bottom line isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do in this instance. This was when things really started to come to a head for me, and when Zendaya followed suit and ALSO unfollowed Sony, I new for sure something was up.

As I just stated, professional actors don’t make it a habit of doing things on social media at random. Their accounts are meticulously controlled, and yes, especially those obviously orchestrated ‘leaks’ that Tom Holland and Mark Ruffalo have been accused of over the last few years. The studios OWN their social media. There’s nothing that happens in regards to their roles they play on social media without being cleared by the studios FIRST. You can take it to Uncle Scrooge’s Money Bin that a studio as clandestinely secretive as Disney is not in the habit of letting their stars get loose about anything concerning their projects. Nothing happens without them wanting it. NOTHING.

The Very Convenient Two Week Period

Lest we forget that after a epic, historic summer movie season for Disney, which Sony definitely benefited from, many fans were stoked to hear what was next for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, especially after the mid-credits scene in Far From Home that totally upended Spider-Mans standing with the world at large. We got a small sampling of this at Comic-Con International at San Diego when Marvel Studios once again blew the doors off of Hall H. Curiously, there was ZERO Spider-Man announcements, which was very odd given that the movie was tearing up the box office at the same time the Hall H presentation was going on.

There’s no way that Sony and Disney would purposely sabotage Spider-Man: Far From home’s re-release

I figured that maaaybe they were just holding stuff back until D23, which happens this weekend. Then the announcement came that Sony & Marvel were arguing over Spider-Mans future. Which seemed like a terrible thing to do since they had just announced the re-release of Spider-Man: Far From Home the day before! Why would Sony purposely ruin their chances of increasing their box office take by telling the entire world that they were ending their relationship with Disney and Marvel Studios? Naturally fans took to social media and voiced their extreme displeasure with Sony Pictures over the seemingly callous announcement at re-releasing a film that became their highest-grossing film ever (thanks to King Midas aka Kevin Fiege) a day after setting geek hearts aflame! It made no rational sense whatsoever.

But then I got to thinking. The scheduling of all of this was starting to lineup for something extremely big! Over the course of two weeks we were going to get the D23 Entertainment Expo on 1 weekend followed by the re-release Spider-Man far from home on Labor Day weekend which is next week. What would possibly make both Disney and Sony think that now was a great time for them to publicly announce their split unless they had something greater up their sleeve.

This is all adding up to something big!

See, there’s no way that anyone can convince me that we aren’t all falling victim to one of the greatest manipulations of the media that we’ve seen. The current sitting president is a master at it, and Disney themselves are very adept at using all forms of media to stir up interest in their properties. The very announcement that Sony and Disney were unable to come to agreement on a new deal concerning Spider-Man would never have leaked to the media unless they wanted it to. At first it was my belief that Disney had leaked this information in order to coax Sony into an even sweeter deal, as the initial reports left me feeling that Disney was strong-arming them, leaving Sony no choice but to give them a hard no. Lastly there was the banner that happened to be shown at the location where 23 is going on this weekend.

Odd to see a property they don’t have rights to featured prominently on a banner at Disney’s personal love fest isn’t it? Almost like theory know something they aren’t telling.

Featured quite prominently in this manner would be three major characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe: Iron Man, Captain Marvel, and as you can see Spider-Man! Were Sony and Disney truly ending their relationship, Spider-Man would not be on that Banner. Disney promotes from within and they are not in the habit of promoting properties that they do not have a stake in. Remind yourselves of how poorly they treated the properties owned by Fox prior to them falling under the Disney umbrella. The X-Men and the Fantastic Four both were treated like redheaded stepchildren and Marvel distanced themselves from the properties i all forms of media. Granted Spider-Man is a much different beast than those aforementioned properties but precedent has been set. In summary, all I’m saying is that we’d all better buckle up for a potentially Unforgettable weekend leading into a celebratory Labor Day weekend. Im no clairvoyant, nor do I have any sources to cite or quote. I’m just a dude who sat back and watched things play out the past few days. Do you believe that Sony and Disney are really splitsville? r are we all being played like puppets on a string? Let me know what you think in the comments.